A time to become a hero
by channy82
Summary: House is involved in a car crash. While injured himself he bravely saves his assailant.
1. Chapter 1

**A Fine Time to Become a Hero**

Speeding through the city at night was something that never failed to relax House. No matter what he had to put up with that day, be it constantly defending his treatment, listening to Cuddy's lectures on how reckless he was, pretending to ignore looks of concern, pity or occassionally disgust from Cameron or just trying to make his leg obey him long enough to get through the day. Today had been the worst day for a long time, fighting against Cuddy and his team was exhausting. His patient was dying, and the only way House knew to save him was through an extremely risky procedure that could do as much harm as good, but at least the patient would survive. When he confronted Cuddy about the procedure she had lost it and blew things out of all proportion. Leaving House feeling mildly guilty for asking, a feeling he hated to experience.

Today had also been a bad leg day. His wasted thigh muscle was constantly burning, he was barely able to support his own wieght. His shoulder screamed at the extra burden this meant it had to support. To add to this Cuddy had overruled his treatment plan for the patient, causing her condition to deteriorate, a problem which House was expected to remedy. _Why does no one listen to me? _He mused to himself as he worked on bringing her back from the brink.

To top it all off today it was raining, so House would have been skinned alive if Wilson caught him on his bike. He had settled for his corvette. If he couldn't have his bike this was surely the next best thing.

At least the roads were clear. At three in the morning they should be. Quickly calculating the odds of any cops being in the area House pushed harder on the gas peddle, and was rewarded by a satisfying roar as the engine worked harder to cope. Buildings streaked past. He had been driving around for hours. Mulling over the day, thinking about why Cuddy was convinced his disregard for patients feelings would somehow result in them breaking. He found it hard keeping up the pretence that he understood what people wanted from him, that he understood the motives behind people's actions. That it wasn't that he didn't understand people's feelings, it was just that he did care how they felt.

House streaked down the rain soaked streets, enoying the rush he got from the dangers of travelling at high speeds. Up ahead he watched, annoyed as a set of traffic lights changed from green to amber to red, cutting short his exhillaration. House let the car roll to a stop at the cross road, frustrated, there was no one about yet the lights still made him wait. If he tried to creep forward now he knew that a cop would appear out of nowhere just as he got across. So he sat there impatiently drumming the steering wheel with his thumbs. After an exasperatingly long wait the lights finally changed from red to amber, after his delay House was ready and had managed to set off before the lights had even turned green.

Once again the powerful car roared as House floored the gas peddle, bringing him back up to speed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something careening towards him at breakneck speed. Instinct told him to turn the wheel right and speed up to avoid the rapidly on coming SUV. He was too late. His wheels screeched on the rain slick road.

The two cars collided with enough force to lift House's car off the ground a couple of inches before depositing if back of the road with a heavy bump, the suspension impaired by the collision. Glass that had exploded from both cars softly sprinkling down upon the quiet street, mingling with the rain.

HHHHHHHH

Pain coursed through the left side of House's body. He hadn't known pain like this for a long time, the left side of his body was on fire. So was something else. House could feel heat on his face. He could feel the skin on his neck and chest begin to pucker as the extreme heat cooked his soft skin. His mind screamed at him to open his eyes, that this wasn't a good time to be sleeping. Groaning audibly House lifted his head a little, shakily drew in a breath, acrid smoke stung his lungs, making him cough and splutter. Pain ripped across his chest, his head felt like it had been cleaved in two. Unconsciousness pulled at him. It was so soft and warm, and pain free. Why not go with it House thought, it was what his body wanted. But the heat on his face and chest brought him back, if his car was on fire surely he shouldn't be in it.

Slowly House managed to open his eyes. The world was bright, much too bright. His eyelids clamped shut, seemingly of their own accord. House focused all of his will into making them open again. After a few second his eyes had adjusted to the intense light coming from the fire working it's was through the car House was sat in, he squinted through the bright light and saw another car attached to his, consumed by angry flames.. Orange rings marked his blurred vision, he was vaguely aware that it was not good, this could be the result of a head injury, if it was bad he could be in trouble. Trapped in a burning car with no one around but someone equally injured also trapped in a burning car.

It hit House then that he should probably do something. Why hadn't he been concerned as soon as he saw both cars ablaze? There was something very wrong here. House tried his door. The force of the impact had twisted the metal, it wasn't going anywhere. He would have to get out the passenger side. As he leaned over he felt something heavy weighing down his jacket pocket. Of course his cell phone! As he reached for it with his left hand he recoiled as pain shot through his wrist and up his arm. House gritted his teeth, that driver had really done a number on him. Using his right hand House managed to pull his cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. The phone was so small House could barely make out the numbers through his blurred vision. By finding the raised button on the five key he was able to feel his way around the buttons and dial the number.

"_911 what your emergency?" _Sang the voice through the earpiece.

"_Ambulance" _House grunted, a little disconcerted at how his voice slurred. _"I've been involved in a car crash, the other driver is hurt, I don't think she's conscious. Her car's on fire so you had better make it quick." _

"_Sir, can you tell me where you are, are you hurt? _The voice had lost its earlier lightness, now it was all business.

House paused, he looked around him for some sign as to his location. There. Scudders Mill deli. _"I'm in Plainsburo, somewhere near Scudders Mill,… near a deli.. at a crossing." _

"_Don't worry Sir we'll find you. Could you tell me your name?"_

With that House hung up, there was nothing more he could do on the phone. Right now he should try to reach the person in the other car. He pulled himself across to the passenger seat grunting with pain, and reached for the handle. It swung out smoothly, taking a surprised House with it. He tumbled into the road unable to catch himself.

House lay gasping for breath, pain coursed through his body, so much pain he couldn't tell where it was coming from. Suddenly he began to retch. Heaving until he brought up only bile. This exertion brought more pain, which caused him to retch harder. After dry heaving for what felt like hours, House finally managed to regain his control. He soon realised that he was soaked through. It was still raining and House was lying in the road. He had to get up. He had to reach the other the car, before whoever was in it was burnt to death.

House shakily heaved himself to his feet, using the car as leverage, a difficult task with only one good hand. He leaned heavily on the wrecked corvette as he made his way to the SUV. Now he could see the car properly he was troubled to find that the fire was making its way through the inside of the car, and was dangerously close to the slumped figure. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that his own car was now consumed wiht fire, if he had given into oblivious both he and the woman would have been burnt to a crisp. This spurred him on.

"_Hey."_ He called thickly. No answer. He peered in through the window. A woman lay slumped across her steering wheel, a large gash across her forehead. The fire already making it's way along the driver's side. If she wasn't already dead she soon would be if House continued to hesitate.

House reached out for the handle with his uninjured right hand, prepared to drag the injured woman from her car. He pulled hard. Then he felt a searing as he gripped the handle. Letting go House studied his palm. It was already beginning to blister. The pain hadn't registered straight away, it was probably the adrenaline. "_Dammit!" _House cursed. He pulled down the sleeves of his jacket, and reached for the white hot handle again. This time he was able to force the door open. The pain in his hand caused House to curse loudly.

He swung the door outwards, the heat made him stagger backwards, House was barely able to stay on his feet. Swaying slightly House reached into the blaze and released the catch on the seatbelt restraining the prone woman in front of him. Then noticed the back of her jacket was ablaze. He reached in with his covered right hand and began to beat at the flames, reducing them to smoulders.

The heat from the fiery inferno stung the injured man's eyes, drying them out. Surely this woman couldn't have survived this heat, or the terrible burns he knew must be hidden from his sight. He checked her pulse, it was very faint. House would have to move fast. He wouldn't be able to pull her out using one hand. House gingerly manoeuvred his left arm so that the crook of his elbow was under her arm and repeated the procedure with his newly injured right arm. The heat from the very close fire brought more pain from his wounded hand. The woman in House's arms didn't some much as stir as House pulled her, from the wrecked vehicle, barely suppressing a scream of pain as his injuries reacted from the strain. He managed to staggar backwards with the dead weight before he body gave up on him he fell to the floor with her. The jarring fall caused another wave of intense pain and nausea to course through House. This time he couldn't fight the abyss that was waiting for him.

Sirens. House stirred, he could hear sirens. He detached himself from the still unconscious form next to him and rolled onto his right side where the pain was less intense and raised his head. He could make out an ambulance very close and two men running towards him with a gurney and equipment. He let his head fall back to the floor in relief, help was here.

He opened his eyes again and found he was strapped to a gurney in a racing ambulance. The sirens were wailing, causing his head to thump. Every nerve in his body was ablaze. He couldn't control the low moan that escaped his lips.

"_Dr House, can you hear me? Don't worry your safe now. You're in an ambulance on the way to Princeton Plainsboro, that's where you work right? ... Dr House?"_

House thought he could hear someone talking but couldn't work out what he was saying. It didn't seem to matter anyway, he felt darkness tugging at him again and went with it, at least it didn't hurt in the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

James Wilson ran through the damp car park and headed for the ER entrance. He couldn't help but play the phone conversation over in his head.

He was asleep in his hotel room when his cell shrilled in the darkness. He was waiting on a call about a patient so he had left it switched on for once. Groaning he pulled himself into a sitting position and turned on the light beside his bed and raked his hand through his hair, sighing before he picked up his phone and finally silenced its song.

"_Dr Wilson" _He croaked.

He was met with an unfamiliar voice, certainly not part of his normal team. _"Um.. Hello Dr, sorry to wake you so early but I thought you would want to know. I'm calling from the ER. Do you know a Dr House?"_

Wilson's mind wheeled. His brain raced through the possible reasons the ER dept could be calling him at _4.15_ about House. OD?, his leg?, he could have fallen?, maybe he was drunk? Or it could be that he was harassing the staff in pursuit of a new patient?

"_Uh… Yes I know House. Is he okay? What's wrong?"_ He tried to ignore how shrill his voice had become.

When the nurse gave him the bad news he felt blind panic. House. Hurt. Serious. He vaguely remembered leaving orders to contact Cuddy before hanging up the phone.

He grabbed some cloths off the floor and ran for his car.

He now found himself pushing through the swing doors that lead to the Emergency Room. He followed the green corridors to the small reception desk.

"_Gregory House." _He wheezed. _"He was brought here by ambulance. Car accident."_

Wilson thought he know what to expect when he pushed open the doors to the treatment room, but he hadn't expects the activity, and the noise. Nurses were busy attaching monitors, cutting off cloths, phoning the blood bank and pushing medication. Two doctors were hunched over to prone, bloodied form on the gurney frantically trying to stabilise him. Machines where beeping, suctioning, whirring. People were shouting orders and calling to one another.

Wilson wasn't prepared for the way House looked. He was still, more so than Wilson had seen him for a long time. He lay flat on the gurney. Blood covered his face, neck and most of the left side of his body. His left wrist was in a brace. His right hand wrapped in a protective plastic bag. Angry red bruises and contusions showed beneath the charred skin that covered his chest. A dressing covered a wound in his side, coloured scarlet with blood.

"_House!" _Wilson ran forward to his friend's side. As he neared the bed Wilson saw the full extent of the injuries on his friend's face. His hair was matted with congealing blood. Dark bruises were beginning to spread from his hairline over his forehead and were radiating down across his cheek, which bled freely from a deep gash. Dried blood stained his upper lip and dyed his unkempt beard. Numerous small cuts peppered his cheek and jawline, probably from glass shattering from his door. A dressing was taped to the left side of House's head, a deep crimson pool coloured in a sea of salt and pepper hair. Wilson reached forward and peeled away the dressing. What he saw made him moan. Sticky congealing blood attached the dressing to the wound. The skull beneath looked wrong somehow, there was a shallow depression where the skull beneath had been shattered. Replacing the dressing Wilson clutched for the bed railing to prevent him from dropping to his knees. Had Wilson not known better he would have thought the man before him was a perfect stranger, some part of him still hoped his was.

"_Dr Wilson." _One of the doctors approached him, while the other continued to put in a chest tube.

"_How is he" Wilson squeaked._

"_The good news is that we have ruled out any neck or spinal injuries. We also checked the area of his infarction, miraculously it seemed to have escaped injury. But It looks like he has some broken ribs, collar bone, a nasty break to his wrist, second degree burns to his right palm, and also to 40 of his chest, he has numerous contusions. But what we are really concerned about is his head wound. His left pupil is sluggish, we found some clear fluid in his ear, and he is barely reacting to painful stimuli. He's only a four on the Glasgow coma scale"_

HHHHHHHHHH­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

Cuddy was sound asleep. She had gotten to bed late the previous night. Her day had been hell. She had back to back meetings in the morning, to determine the budget for the entire year. Heads of department had been paying visits all day trying to secure their rights to new equipment and extra staff. Then in the afternoon House had burst into her office. He was on one of his insane crusades to treat his patient using experimental treatments that were just as likely to kill them. He had pestered her every five minutes until she could take no more and unleashed the full force of her fury upon him. When he limped away she could have sworn for a moment that he looked dejected.

She was having a wonderful dream about chaining House to a hospital bed and leaving him there, when she became aware of a shrill ringing noise. She checked House's equipment and monitors they all seemed fine. She walked into the corridors, it was louder there. The nurses station was empty. One of the phones was trilling away. She picked it up. _"Hello?"_

"_Dr Cuddy? … Hello? ...Dr Cuddy, are you there?" _Came the voice over the other end.

Cuddy woke to find herself sat upright in bed with the phone clutched to her ear.

"_Dr Cuddy, are you ok?" _The voice sounded concerned now

She cleared her throat. _"Um, yes I'm fine what is it?"_

"_It's Dr House, he's been in an accident. One of the paramedics recognised him and is bringing him here to the ER."_

Cuddy suddenly felt very awake. _"What happened? Is he badly hurt?"_

"_Car accident. It seems he has a head injury. I don't think he's conscious."_

"_I'll be right there. Page Foreman."_

With that Cuddy hung up and grabbed some cloths to throw on before she too went raced to the hospital.

Cuddy arrived to find Wilson already in the room. He looked awful. His damp cloths were rumpled and untucked, his hair was sticking up at crazy angles. Deep lines of worry scored his youthful features. This was so different from his normal, carefully groomed visage that she was shocked.

Cuddy looked down at the table that held the man who equally infuriated and astounded her. He lay there pale and bloodied and unmoving. A large dressing was taped to his head, saturated with dark blood. He was modestly covered in a hospital gown. This too was stained with House's blood. Scarlet blood slowly dripped from the bed and landed in small pools on the floor.

The oncologist, Dr Foreman and the ER doctor were intently looking at a film of House's head, which clearly showed a spider web of cracked bones and a bleed in the left side of House's brain. Wilson turned as if sensing another's presence in the room. Noticing his boss he broke off his discussion with the two doctors.

He began to fill her in on the injured man's condition when a rattling noise interrupted him. He looked around to see his best friend caught in a seizure.

Wilson, Foreman and Cuddy rushed forward, horrified. Houses limbs jerked and twitched. Monitors began to beep insistently.

A strange gargling noise sounded his throat and red froth began to bubble in his mouth. _"Roll him!"_ Wilson yelled as House began to vomit. They rolled him onto his relatively uninjured right side and red liquid began to flow from his mouth, and pooled on the floor. "_Suction" _Wilson directed the tool into his friend's mouth to draw out any remaining blood that could compromise his friend's breathing.

"_10 mg Vecuronium. We need to paralyse him, we can't sedate him before I complete a full neuro check." _Shouted Foreman over the beeping of the machines.

"_His sats are dropping. We have to intubate." _Cuddy was already at the head of the bed, scope and intubation kit in hand.

Suddenly the cardiac monitor began to beep furiously telling them it was slowing. House's blood pressure had fallen and was affecting his heart. Wilson ordered adrenaline and was about to push it when House flat lined. His jerking began to slow as Foreman quickly pushed the paralytic. The ER doctor rushed forwards but found his way blocked by the Dean, he knew there was no way he could make these three doctors clear the room so he could do his job, instead he stepped back and let them work, he would be around if they needed him.

"_Paddles" _Cuddy shouted at a nurse as she pulled open the gown, she barely registered the angry bruises already forming on his chest, and forced herself to ignore the bloodied and seared skin. "_250" _She shouted and waited for the green light. _"Clear!" _Cuddy shouted to the room before pressing the paddles to his chest and squeezed the button. House jerked under her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wilson jump at the violent reaction. The monitor showed no change. _"300…clear"_ She could feel the shock jolt through his body, but still his heart didn't respond. Not daring to look round the room for fear of seeing her terror reflected in Forman and Wilson's eyes. Cuddy concentrated on her patient, telling herself he was just another sick person who needed her help. Wilson started CPR, he had already gone a minute without any blood pumped to his brain. Forman continued to call for medication that would hopefully stimulate the man's heart.

After five minutes the people around the bed were nearly frantic, they were beginning to despair that they would ever be able to bring him back. Wilson began to tire, sweat stung his eyes but he would still not stop, he would never forgive himself if he gave up on his friend. Foreman began to vocalise his frustration. _"Come on House... Don't give up…Come on." _He pushed Wilson aside, impatient to do something physical. He began pounding on his boss's chest. Cuddy continued to shock him using the paddles, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

Five minutes turned to seven, eight, nine. Foreman continued to pump at his employer's chest, Cuddy manned the paddles and Wilson administered the medication. House had already had three units of blood to make up for the pools collecting on the floor, still he needed more fluids, he ordered a nearby nurse to squeeze the bag, pushing to precious blood faster._"Shit"_ Foreman suddenly wheezed, Wilson and Cuddy looked up at his tired, sweat streaked face, he looked horrified. _"I've just broken a rib, I felt it crack."_

Wilson pushed one last round of adrenaline and left the syringe fall to the floor to join the dozen others. He was beginning to feel that House had lost his battle and was about to suggest that they call time of death when Cuddy shocked House again and shouted with triumph. _"There, I saw a blip… another one. He's back." _Foreman stopped his compressions and gratefully stepped away from the bed. Wilson could hardly believe what had happened; he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the screen. His friend was back, at least for now.

When he was finally stable Foreman began to check House over. He borrowed a penlight and lifted House's right eyelid to shine the light in and check response. It was slow but contracted when the light hit it. The neurologist then he moved to the left. He carefully lifted the lid and shone the small light. Peering over the doctor's shoulders Wilson had a clear view. His knees felt weak and Wilson had to grab at the table to prevent himself from slipping to the floor. There was no response at all in the left eye. House's pupil had blown, an indication that he had a severe head injury. _"Call surgery now. Tell them we have a severe head injury with a suspected brain bleed." _Wilson and the other doctors began to disconnect the wires and pushed the bed in the corridor. Turning the heads of staff and patients who happened to be around.

"_Clear the elevator"_ Cuddy commanded, people spilled out of the elevator watching the unfolding scene. The audience looked on as they rushed to the elevator and pushed their broken charge through the parted doors.


	3. Chapter 3

In the room adjoining the abandoned treatment room a lady lay on a similar gurney. Much of her body was covered in charred black and red burned skin. Like House she had a tube inserted in her throat helping her breath. The harrassed Doctors jostling around the bed struggled to find a decent vein so that they could give her some fluids and pain medication. They were struggling to stave off the shock which could shut down her internal organs.

Finally a decent view was located. Fluid was pushed through her compromised system. A mixture of pain medication, penicillin and saline to replace the fluid lost through the charred skin.

Once she was stable she would be moved up to the burn unit. She would be kept unconscious for at least a week to allow the painful recovery process to begin. In the morning she would undergo debridgement to remove the dead skin and stave off infection. Then would come the skin grafts.

She had a long painful recovery ahead of her. If she survived the night.

House was in surgery for the rest of the night and much of the early morning. Foreman had left to oversee the surgery. Wilson and Cuddy all the while waited in the small waiting area down the corridor. Unable to bear witnessing their friend cut open and vulnerable from the viewing area upstairs. Both doctors spoke very little during this time, seemingly caught up in their own thoughts. Though they obviously drew comfort from each other's presence. They sat close together and occasionally looked to the other, as if to check that the other were still present.

Wilson for the most part starred down at his sweatshirt, it was stained burgundy with the blood of his best friend. A friend he was going to let die. He was going to call time of death, without giving him the time he needed to come back. He dropped his head in his hands, overridden with the guilt of something he had almost done. Cuddy couldn't help but replay the code in her head. She remembered over and over the feeling out House shuddering beneath her as she applied the paddles and sent 300 volts of electricity coursing through his broken body.

When finally a surgeon approached them the clock struck nine am. He informed them that he had successfully stopped the bleeding and had removed some splinters of bone from the diagnostician's brain, he had installed a metal plate to replace the lost bone and protect his traumatised brain from further injury. His colleagues had also repaired some damage to his stomach and pancreas. An unstable fracture in his wrist was repaired with pins to keep the bones in place. His burns had been treated and dressed with a clear dressing to prevent infection. Despite his efforts he voiced his concern that penetrating head injuries of this kind were extremely severe. Although his left pupil was now responding to light both were still sluggish, he was no longer responding to pain and he was making no effort to breath for himself. He had a GCS of just 3. There was less than a 40 chance of the doctor surviving these injuries. And if he did recover enough to wake up, there was great chance that he would suffer brain damage. If he did wake up, he may not be House, the man renowned for his staggering intellect and his stinging jibes.

After recovery House was moved to ICU where he was kept sedated. By midmorning it was clear that House was in a deep coma. Wilson was unable to leave his friend in this condition, even if it was only to return to his hotel for a change of cloths. Instead he borrowed a clean pair of scrubs, unable to bear the sight of his friends blood any longer. Exhausted with worry he slumped into one of the visitors chairs positioned by his friend's side. There he remained unmoving for the rest of the day, aside from the occasional trip to the coffee machine.

House for his part remained unmoving on the narrow bed. A tube inserted down his throat supported his breathing. His head was neatly wrapped in a crisp white bandage; the drain to remove excess fluid snaked from the dressing and disappeared down the side of the bed. He wore a clean new gown; open at the front to reveal pads placed to monitor his heart beat. Leads and wires disappeared under the gown. He could just see the edges of angry purple bruises marking the numerous broken ribs. His raw skin was protectively covered in what looked like treated cling film. BP cuff, an intravenous line and dressings on his burned hand were all attached to his right arm. While his left forearm sported a clean white cast, protecting the injured areas as the broken bones knit together.

Wilson searched his friend's bruised and swollen face from time to time for any signs of his usual animation, although he knew that at least for now that was impossible, owing to the heavy sedation the deeply unconscious man was under.

As the day crept on the soft puff of the ventilator and the quiet blip, blip of the cardiac monitor were the only sounds. The still quiet of the room was only disturbed occasionally by nurses changing IV bags, and doctors checking wounds and his status. Occasionally Cuddy came in, asking questions in a soft voice, curiously trying to avoid disturbing the injured man from his drug and injury induced slumber. Foreman and Chase also disturbed the quiet a few times, monitoring their boss's condition. Cameron had a day off and they were unable to get hold of her. Wilson was secretly pleased by this, he couldn't handle Cameron in this situation. Wilson sat in the corner beside his friend the whole time, barely speaking. He just watched resentfully as people invaded the previous calm. Without them there Wilson was able to pretend that House was merely sleeping, or had passed out after one of their increasingly infrequent drinking marathons. When they came in the unpleasant reality hit home and he was forced to face the fact that this larger than life character was fighting for his life, and could soon lose his battle.

During the afternoon House was taken for an MRI to try to determine the extent of his brain injuries. The result showed that House had grade 1 focal axonal injury, he had lesions on the white matter of his brain, Foreman expressed his concern that House may not fully recover. Wilson was devastated. After his infarction the only thing House was able to exercise pain free was his sharp wit. House defined himself by his intelligence, if that was taken away who was he? Wilson withdrew from the outside world even more. He watched over his friend, brooding over the painful news.

As night fell Wilson stiffly emerged from the small room. Time had begun to weigh heavily upon him. He couldn't stop himself from thinking that the more time passed, the closer his friend came to death. He told himself it was because he was shut up in that depressing room, with nothing but his thoughts for company. He decided to go home and change. After leaving strict instructions to phone his cell if there were any changes he left the hospital for his lonely hotel room.

Wilson had emerged from the hot cleansing shower feeling much better. The knot of dread that had lain in the pit of his stomach all day was beginning to lift. House was in good hands. ICU was kitted out with state of the art equipment. The doctors and nurses were highly trained. And House was a fighter. On two previous occasions his life had been under threat. The first time Wilson was convinced his friend would not survive, and had prepared for the worse. But House stubbornly refused to give in to the pain, even when Stacy left he still managed to hold on. No, House was too stubborn to die. He would hang around just to spite others and make their lives a misery.

After changing into a fresh change of cloths Wilson wolfed down the sandwich that had been brought up by room service. He had not eaten all day and was starving. He was contemplating ordering another when his phone rang. His stomach turned, his sandwich now laying heavy in his stomach. He knew it was bad news. He made to snatch up the small phone, then hesitated, his hand hovering and inch away. It may well have been at the other end of the room, Wilson could not make his body respond. He stared at the offending limb in disgust. Work damn it! The room filled with tension and the doctor struggled with himself. He let out a cry of frustration as the insistent ringing abruptly stopped. The silence was almost deafening.

When the ringing started again Wilson succeeded in grabbing his cell, pressed answer and placed it firmly by his ear. _"H Hello?" _he stammered.

"_Dr Wilson, I work at the ICU. You asked us to contact you if there was any change in House's condition." _A pause, she clearly expected Wilson to say something, but he was unable to answer. Fear stabbed like a dagger in his chest. _"He had another seizure, at lasted about 5 minutes. Doctor Cuddy happened to be visiting and was able to stabilise him."_

Fear coursed through Wilson and left him feeling light headed. He let out a shaky breath. Of course, after the head injury House had, further seizures were to be expected. But somehow Wilson had hoped he wouldn't have another one. _"I'll be right there." _He informed the nurse. He was already half way across the room, his hunger forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

Cameron was determined to enjoy her day off. She had switched off her cell phone the previous evening and had set her alarm for a decadently late 9am wake up call. The young doctor woke in the morning to find sunlight streaming through her partially closed curtains. She smiled lazily to herself, enjoying the warm sun playing across her face. After a leisurely shower Cameron made her way into her small kitchen to prepare a breakfast of hot, fresh coffee and fresh fruit.

She listened to an old CD as she relaxed over her breakfast, planning the day ahead. After completing some errands in the morning Cameron had arranged to meet an old college friend for lunch. Then she would return home to work on an article she was hoping to get published. Hardly the social life she had planned when she began her career but after working with House, Chase and Foreman all week she would take all the relaxation she could get.

When she finished her breakfast Cameron cleared her plate and cup away. Then returned to her bedroom to change, before leaving to complete her errands.

After an enjoyable lunch reminiscing with her old room mate, Cameron returned to her apartment. Her day so far had been pleasant and stress free, a stark contrast to the days she spent at work. Whenever she had a day off she tried to do as little as possible in order to relax and unwind.

Back in her apartment Cameron switched on her computer and contemplated the afternoon ahead. Before too long light began the leave the small office. Cameron continued to work, oblivious, until she looked up from her computer puzzling over a new strain of the ebola virus discovered in Africa, and realised she could barely make out the corners of her room. She checked her watch and realised how late it was. She stretched, feeling the kinks in her neck protest. She had worked long enough.

Cameron got up and switched her TV to the local station then walked into the small kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. She half listened to the news as she poured herself a steaming cup of strong coffee. Suddenly she heard House's name, intrigued she walked to the doorway and peered into the gloomy living area at the blue grey light in the corner. The report told Cameron that House had been in a car accident. That he had rescued the woman that hit him even though he himself was badly injured. The last thing she heard before she closed her front door behind her was that both patients were in the ICU at PPTH

When Cameron arrived at the hospital she was surprised to find the entrance blocked by journalists with camera camped out questioning staff as they entered or left. They must have a new high profile patient.

She fought through the crowd just inside the entrance and spotted Cuddy near the nurses station, talking to a police officer. She couldn't help but interrupt the conversation. _"I just heard, how is he?" _

"_Where have you been we've been trying to get hold of you since last night. House is stable for the moment. He has some broken bones and internal bleeding. The surgeons were able to repair the damage…. He also suffered a bad head injury. He's in a coma." _Cameron didn't wait for Cuddy to tell her more, she bypassed the long queues at the lift and ran up the stairs leading to ICU.

Cuddy was still shaken after finding him seizing earlier that afternoon, she had acted automatically to control his jerking. She appeared composed as she ordered two units of blood to replace the vital fluids lost when his surgical stitches in his side burst with the force of the seizures. She paged a surgeon to re-stitch the gaping wound and then strode confidently from the room. But as soon as she rounded the corner her composure melted, she staggered and reached for a wall to support her waning strength. Alone in a stairwell she could barely control her shaking hands, her legs had buckled and she cried soundlessly, not caring what someone would think if they saw her.

After she had finally managed to reign in her cavorting emotions Cuddy threw herself into her staggering workload. She was kept gratefully busy for the rest of the afternoon. She still had her normal duties, and the budget still wasn't sorted. She also had to talk to the police regarding House's accident. They didn't seem to want to take _he's in a coma _as a reason to leave him alone. They insisted that they go see for themselves. They also wanted to speak to the woman who hit him.

To top all of this off Cuddy had to deal with dozens of reporters camped outside her reception, waiting for an interview with the daring, _disabled_ (as if that mattered) doctor who risked his life to save his assailant, despite horrific injuries. Even unconscious House had a way of preoccupying her time, letting her know that he was still alive. She silently reminded herself to book some physio sessions for House. He may be out for a while and Cuddy wasn't about to let his leg to atrophy on her watch. Then he would be unbearable.


	5. Chapter 5

Cameron burst into House's room waking the dozing oncologist slumped in the hard visitor's chair. She looked vaguely sheepish as she approached the bed. After his earlier scare Wilson had once again taken up his place as sentry beside House's sleeping form. As soon as Cameron saw House's face her's fell. She was devastated. Her eyes travelled over the ventilator which disappeared down his throat, and ran over the numerous cuts and bruises. Finally resting on the bandage concealing the horrific wounds beneath. Her hand went to her mouth, stifling the gasp of horror that threatened to escape.

Wilson stood beside her, rested his hand on her shoulder, offering her the comfort he so desperately needed. At his touch tears began to well in the young woman's eyes and spilled down her cheeks, unchecked. She couldn't believe this was really House. Despite his cane and his infuriating pill habit Cameron had always thought that House was the strongest person she had ever met. He could get through anything. He had survived muscle death. His body had been flooded with poison released from his dead tissue, still he survived. He had been shot in front of her, and almost bled out in her arms. Days later he had been up and about, making Cuddy's life miserable. This was different. He had never looked so battered before, he had never looked so helpless. She sat next to the bed, her fingers lightly touching his upper arm, the rest of his body was covered in bandages.

HHHHHHHHH

After 45 minutes she could sense that Wilson wanted to be alone again. He had become restless, checking and rechecking his friends monitors. Making her excuses she left his side, heading for the conference room. Through the glass she could see Chase and Foreman inside, both staring intently at the medical files in front of them. Habit forced her to look up into the room beyond. She found herself hoping that House was in there, playing with his large tennis ball or twirling his cane, lost in thought. She checked herself, what was wrong with her? She had just left him, lying unconscious, barely alive.

She entered the room she shared with her colleagues. Both looked up as she approached. Chase left his chair and hugged Cameron wordlessly. Both men could see the how red and puffy her eyes were. Foreman got up to pour her a coffee. She sat down at the large glass table. Her fingers lightly touching Chase's, drawing comfort from his touch.

Foreman spoke first. _"Did you see the reporters when you came in?"_ She nodded silently. _"They heard what House did, _they_ want an interview."_ He continued disbelievingly.

Chase picked up the conversation, uncomfortable with Cameron's silence. _"Who knew he had it in him. I didn't think he cared about others enough to save someone's life, especially with _those_ injuries."_

"_Maybe it was the head injury, he didn't know what he was doing." _Foreman scoffed. Cameron glared daggers at him. He immediately regretted what he had said and fell silent. To hide his shame he picked up House's file in front of him and pretended to study it intently. They sat there in silence the much of the day. All lost in thought, thinking about their boss, the room quiet without him.

Chase also went back to studying the file in front of him, it belonged to Sarah Hamilton the lady who had hit House. She had miraculously survived the night, and had been assigned to House's team. Cuddy reasoned that since he was the first doctor on the scene, House's team should be the ones to treat her. Her burns were horrific, covering

most of her body. She was sedated and in a clean room to prevent bacteria from getting into her raw wounds. Like House she had suffered some seizures and was extremely unstable. Chase couldn't help feeling that there was more to it that just losing control of her car. He was determined to find out the reason she had nearly crushed his boss with her tank of a car.

HHHHHHHH

Cameron sat there until she could take the silence no longer. She got up from her chair and began to pace the room restlessly. Foreman looked up at her as she circled the room for a fifth time, he caught her eye, looking annoyed. She changed her course and headed for House's empty office. She wandered in, looking around her. She approached his desk and began to run her fingers over his things. Hoping that touching them would help her feel closer to him. It didn't help. She slumped in his chair, then reached forward and flicked on his old, battered television. She began to flick through the channels until she saw the news. Cameron then settled back in her mentor's chair. It smelled faintly of him. She closed her eyes almost feeling content. After a while she began to drift into a light sleep

For the second time that day she heard House's name mentioned, drawing her back to the present. A reporter was giving details of the accident. Then introduced some CCTV footage. Cameron watched horrified as she recognised House's car and realised what she was about to witness. She called to her colleagues. They arrived in the room as House's car pulled away from an intersection. _"What?" _Foreman asked annoyed at having to get up, just to watch a car driving through a deserted street. _"Woah" _Chase jumped. The car on the screen was suddenly impaled by a large black SUV. Then all was still.

The reporter came back on the screen. _"Dr House and the driver of the SUV are both at Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. Their conditions are both described as critical."_

"_Jesus"_ Foreman breathed. The other two remained quiet, Foreman had summed it up.

HHHHHHH

The same footage was played on every local news bulletin, with updates on the two peoples conditions. This was a big story for the local town. Not only was a well known and highly acclaimed local doctor involved but the woman who hit him was the wife of a local politician.

Cuddy had to deal with the fallout from the news reports. She had to handle the family of the badly burned woman, and reassure well wishers and ex patients of House that he was hanging in there. The worst of it was that a clip of the accident had found its way onto youtube, complete with the daring rescue from her most troublesome employee. She had the legal department working on getting it removed. But, Cuddy feared, not before every damned person in the hospital had seen it.


	6. Chapter 6

Before I go into this chapter I just want to say thank you to all the support everyone has given me regarding this story. This is the first fanfiction I have written and as such I wanted to get it just right. Thank you for all the reviews I have received. I had not expected such positive comments, they have really spurred me on.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Infuriated Cuddy slammed the tabloid down on her desk. The local paper had splashed pictures of House and his patient across the front page. A photographer had snuck into the hospital in disguise and had managed to find Mrs Hamilton's room and had taken photos of her unconscious and vulnerable before moving to House's room. They must have had help from someone in the hospital she silently fumed.

In front of her sat the imposing form of Michael Hamilton and his lawyer. He was already threatening to sue the hospital for letting this security breach happen, and had also made a number of personal attacks on Cuddy's ability to do her job and how women should not be given positions of power.

The real reason for his anger was not the fact that his wife's privacy had been invaded. Pictures of her sick and in pain would score him points of the campaign trail. No, he was angry because the paper had printed the fact that the young woman was high on a cocktail of alcohol, Valium and marijuana. That would not go down well with the voting public. If he could not control his wife and her errant ways how would he run a state, or eventually his own country. His political career may not come back from this.

Cuddy eyed the politician, trying to contain her scorn. Since the accident he had been milking the proceeding events for all they were worth. He had publicly thanked House for saving the life of his beautiful wife, and had offered to pay all of his medical bills. He had praised the hospital on the fine job they had done keeping his wife alive and in a comfortable condition. He had stood side by side with Cuddy and had spoken about the hospital's unique vision and drive and had donated money to the burns unit in recognition of the support they had shown his family.

It had all been one long media stunt. House, Sarah, Cuddy and her staff had all been used to promote his image as a family man and a dutiful member of the community.

Now that his image had been tarnished he was out for blood, a scapegoat. Cuddy would not let it be her, or her hospital. As he ranted about her incompetence she stole herself for a fight. The good thing about working with Greg House all this time was that she could stand up for herself.

HHHHHHHHH

The next day House's temperature was slightly elevated and he had begun to perspire. Fearing that he had caught an infection Wilson ordered some blood tests, and checked his wounds for signs of infection. He was puzzled when his tests revealed no signs of infection. Then he realised, House hadn't had any Vicodin for over a day. He was suffering from withdrawal Wilson observed sadly. Over the next few days House's condition stabilised. Without pain to contend with the effects of the detox were relatively short lived.

An MRI had revealed some brain activity, and the swelling was beginning to go down. He was still suffering from seizures, but they were becoming less frequent and tended to end relatively quickly. Despite this Foreman suggested that House may have to take anti-convulsants for a while, just in case he continued to suffer from seizures. The good news was that his sedation was reduced and he was not longer in such a deep coma. His doctor had begun talking about taking him off the ventilator.

House was moved out of ICU. He was no longer in critical condition and no longer needed constant attention. He was moved to a small private room on the floor below.

Although he was loath to leave his friend, Wilson returned to work. This was not out of necessity; there were enough members staff to cover him, but he needed to keep busy. Wilson would not admit this to anyone but he hated sitting by gazing at his friend's motionless body. He felt uncomfortable just being in the same room with Greg House when he was unconscious.

After the infarction Wilson had kept his distance, unable to stand seeing his friend in so much pain. He could hear his screams of pain down the corridor in his office or when he treated patients. They had left him feeling sick, there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. He felt guilty when he prayed that House would just pass out from the excruciating pain, then he could almost forget his friend's suffering. When he was shot just a year ago Wilson made excuses, plagued by similar feelings. He kept picturing him on the gurney covered in blood, looking pale. Now Wilson again felt compelled to stay away. He found that dread would creep up on him if he sat in House's sick room. If he brought paper work to do it sat untouched. For he couldn't stop himself from looking to his friend to ensure he was stable, or looking out the window lost in thought, contemplating the time ahead.

Perhaps it was due to the nature of his job. He had to deal with so many ailing people, many of whom looked as sick and weak as House did now. When House was awake and on form he somehow counteracted the hopelessness Wilson sometimes felt when faced with the sheer numbers of his cancer patients. House helped to take his mind off the patients he was unable to save. Wilson would take a rude, smug, arrogant House over a sick one any day.

The young doctor found that if he was occupied he was able to push his worry to the back of his mind. In fact he would work longer than necessary. He took on extra cases just to have something to do. James didn't admit it to anyone, but without his friend's incessant prying, and probing into Wilson's private life, or his intriguing games, and flashes of medical brilliance, PPTH felt a cold and tedious place. The only way to counteract this unsettling feeling was to keep busy.

Besides, he assured himself House had plenty of people looking out for him. Cameron spent every spare second by his bedside, willing him the wake up. Foreman, as his neurologist, frequently visited him to carry out neuro checks. Chase also kept an eye on his boss's condition, although Wilson suspected he did this just so he could tell House he had looked after him when the man finally woke. He would do anything to ensure he still had a job to go to. Even Cuddy had taken to stopping by his room when she was not busy, she seemed to enjoy sharing a room with him without being insulted, leered at or badgered every two minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

House had now been unconscious for almost a week. He was now off the ventilator, but showed no other signs of regaining consciousness anytime soon. A nasal gastric tube had been inserted into House's stomach to provide nutrition. The dressings on his head wound had been removed. A rectangle of hair was still very close after being shaved for his operation. An angry red scar snaked from in front of House's left ear towards the back of his head, it was about three inches in total. An uncomfortable reminder to everyone of just how close House had come to dying.

Wilson worked so hard that he only had time to visit his friend briefly in the morning, and in the evening before he left for his hotel room. Most evenings he found Cameron seated beside his bed. Strangely Wilson has found that he was able to sit more or less calmly beside his friend's bed with someone there for company. With someone to talk to Wilson his friend's imposing silence seemed less oppressive.

Wilson walked towards his friend's room, secretly hoping that Cameron, Cuddy or even Chase or Foreman would be there watching over House as he entered.

As Wilson rounded the corridor to ICU he noticed a nurse run through the doorway to House's room. As the young doctor sped up he heard the insistent beeping which alerted staff to a patient in trouble.

He entered the room to see Cameron already there, bent over the unconscious doctor. _"What's wrong." _ Wilson questioned.

Cameron barely looked up to acknowledge Wilson's presence as she answered his question. _"When I arrived I noticed House looked a little warm. I checked his chest, decreased breath sounds and crackles. He has pneumonia." _As she spoke she held a digital thermometer to House's ear _"104.5"._ Wilson took the time to look down at his friend, he was pale and clammy, his lips tinged slightly blue. Worried, Wilson looked up at the monitors his sats were only 86. Cameron placed a mask over House's face to help with his breathing. Wilson called out for the nurse to bring some erythromycin, to treat the infection. Wilson began to draw some blood for testing in the lab. After the two doctors stabilised House Wilson arranged for a chest x-ray.

Over the next few hours House's temp continued to rise. The antibiotics seemed to have little effect on the infection currently chewing out House's lungs. His sats had dropped to 85, despite the oxygen mask. At that moment the lab results came back, confirming a rather virulent strain of pneumonia. Cameron looked up questioningly, he thrust the paper into her hands and ran to the doorway. "_Get me some __Vancomycin__"_. He gruffly called to a passing nurse, she hesitated a moment, shocked by his abruptness. A moment later she came in the room with the medication ordered. Wilson took the loaded syringe and pushed it through House's IV. The strong antibiotics should get to work soon. But not soon enough, House's temp was now spiking at 105, his gown was saturated with sweat, his skin gleaming. The cooling blankets he had ordered an hour ago still hadn't arrived. There had been an emergency in the ER and all were being used. He had to do something quick to prevent House's brain from frying in the heat of his fever. Wilson and Cameron both knew what they had to do, but for a few seconds they were loath to do it.

Finally Cameron left to order the ice bath that would be used to lower his fever, hopefully before any permanent damage was done. Wilson looked over at his friend. The room seemed quite and calm again for a moment, his friend's skin was still pale his hair was soaked with his sweat, at least he was asleep, he wasn't suffering.

House suddenly became stiff as a board, then began jerking hard enough to make the bed rattle. Cameron rushed back into the room at the sound of the rattling bed and the monitors alerting her to another fit taking place. Turning to the nurse next to her she efficiently but urgently ordered 2mg of Ativan, only her shaking voice betraying her calm exterior. The nurse left and Cameron crossed the room to the bed where Wilson was now attempting to cushion his friends head to prevent further injury. When the nurse returned Cameron pushed the medication.

After a number of tension filled minutes, House finally stopped seizing. By this point he was streaming with sweat, his sheets and gown saturated, his sodden hair plastered to his head. His heart rate and BP were too high for the doctors liking. Cameron went to the sink and soaked a cloth with cold water, which she used to cool his face, when she moistened it again proceeded to drape the cloth over House's forehead, carefully avoiding his scar.

When the ice finally arrived Wilson, Cameron and two nurses began to fill the small en suite bath with cold water from the tap and emptied in the seemingly endless bags of ice that were brought up from the kitchen. When it was nearly full Cuddy entered the room. She had called to check on House's condition and had only then been informed of his infection, soaring temp and febrile convulsion. She was not in the best of moods at being so ill-informed. She immediately went over to House, while the others continued to work. Seeing him so sick on top of his severe injuries sent a wave of sympathy through the Dean. At least he wouldn't be conscious when they lowered him into the frigid water. She began to disconnect the leads and wires attaching House to the equipment.

Wilson stood at the head of his friend's bed. He reached around and grasped his friend carefully under the arms, much like House had done to his patient a week previous. Through his cloths he could feel intense heat radiating from his sick friend. His shirt front was soon damp with perspiration. A nurse took House's weight under his knees and together they slowly lifted the unconscious man from the bed and lowered him into a nearby wheelchair. The bathroom was only a matter of paces but he wanted to spare his sleeping friend the indignity of being carried that far. When they reached the bathroom Wilson and the nurse again lifted him and lowered him into the freezing water. Cameron and Cuddy watched from the other side of the room, their faces set in equally grim masks. It occurred to Wilson that this would almost be funny, if his friend was not fighting for his life right now. If he had been awake, Wilson suspected House would take some perverse sort of pleasure in this bizarre tableau.

House lay submerged in water up to his shoulders, shivering almost convulsively. His gangly form meant that his knees were bent almost double in the snug little bath. His head lolled backwards, supported by a rolled towel placed at the head of the bath. He showed no pain or discomfort, he just looked like he was sleeping. Wilson felt a stab of disappointment, the shock of freezing water had been known to wake coma patients from their slumber.

Wilson kept a careful eye on his friend, if he was in too long they risked hypothermia. He picked up a thermometer to check his friend's temperature was lowering. Satisfied he ordered two nurses to come in and help return House to the bed and change his soaked gown for a dry one. The three doctors left the room to give House a modicum of privacy, and to grab some coffee from the machine in the hall.

When the nurses left the doctors returned with their steaming drinks. House once again lay motionless on the bed, an oxygen mask hid most of his face from view. Wilson approached the bed to ensure that all the equipment was connected correctly and that

his friend's vitals were more to his liking. His temperature had finally come down, although House still looked feverish. Listening to is friend's chest Wilson was relieved to hear less crackles, a quick check on the monitor in front of him told Wilson his sats levels had risen to 90, the stronger antibiotics were finally beginning to work.

An insistent beeping suddenly sounded, informing Wilson that an IV bag needed changing. As he neared the bed he noticed House's left arm, lying on the bed where the nurses had placed it, twitch. He almost dismissed it as a shiver, when he saw the hand begin to squeeze into a fist. Then he heard the most beautiful sound he had heard in a long time. A small groan escaped from House's lips.

Jostling for room with Cuddy and Cameron who had rushed forward, Wilson pulled a small penlight from his pocket and carefully raised an eyelid and shone the focused light in. The pupils were quick to react, contracting to protect the retina from the sudden bright light. Wilson felt a slight recoil as the man in front of him pulled away from the discomfort.

"_House?" _He heard Cuddy next to him say... No response. Not to be deterred, Cuddy repeated a little louder. This time they all saw the man stir.


	8. Chapter 8

Pain once again tugged at the corners of House's consciousness. Pain radiated through every bone, every cell in his body. He felt like he was on fire. His skin burned. Nerves screamed in protest over this assault on his already traumatised body.

He became aware that he was shaking all over, so violently that he could feel his teeth chatter. Then it hit him, he wasn't burning, he was frozen. So cold his body found it almost impossible to distinguish from the sensation of burning.

House was suddenly a boy again, caught up in the wretchedness of his father's fervent commitment to raising a good military son. Forced to try become someone he was not, and never would be, young Gregory was often subjected to 'reprimands' designed to hurt and humiliate the young boy. Military style reprimands that were designed to discipline and toughen up fully grown recruits, not small, willful, lonely young boys.

Feelings that House had long suppressed, hidden away so that he would no longer have to be vulnerable, at the mercy of others, began to flow through him. Terror, dread, and of course humiliation. Memories began to surface, breaking a window during a game of catch, falling off his bike and scratching his father's shiny new car, getting suspended from school for fighting. Then came the torturous wait, the hoping and praying that somehow his father would never find out. He always did. He must have done something really bad this time, the ice bath was only pulled out when he had truly embarrassed his father. He became aware of a sickening throbbing in his head, pains in his chest left arm and right hand. He must have been beaten as well, he must have been really bad.

As he was musing over what he could have done, but couldn't quite remember he became aware of voices far away. He couldn't work out what they were saying. He didn't quite recognise them, where was he?

Suddenly he felt strong hands grasp him, felt himself being lifted. He couldn't seem to move. He had no way of preventing what was happening. Yet rather than being scared he didn't seem to care. He felt darkness once more tugging at him.

Voices again sounded from far away, but House was too tired for them to register as much more than a mild distraction. House allowed himself to float away from the sound.

Before long his calm was again interrupted by a loud beeping noise. This annoying new intrusion was enough to raise the level of House's consciousness. He found he was able to move his hand slightly, but the effort caused pain to volt through his arm. He tried to suppress a groan of pain, if his father heard his weakness the punishment would be worse.

"_House". _Wilson wanted his friend to react to his voice. _"House, open your eyes." _Nothing. _"Come on buddy, open your eyes." _House turned his head slightly at the sound of his friend's voice but made no effort to open his eyes.

Concerned, Wilson picked up his friend's now limp left hand and pressed his thumb into the nail bed. A small groan and stir from the bed were the only signs of life. Wilson looked to the two female doctors in frustration, and saw the worry they all shared. Hesitantly he reached over and parted the gown of the sleeping man. Looked to Cuddy for confirmation, the minute nod was all the affirmation he needed. He began to knead his knuckles over the healing skin of the diagnostician's sternum. This time he had definitely caught House's attention. After a sharp inhalation his left hand came up weakly, trying to push away the cause of the pain. Wilson continues his assault. A

bandaged right hand came up to join the left, this Cuddy carefully took hold of to prevent him from succeeding. At this point his eyelids began to flutter, his eyes were rolled back in pain. House groaned again.

"_House, if you can hear me I want you to squeeze my hand." _Cuddy told her employee. Her face lit up as after a pause House was finally able to carry out a request.

"_You're doing great House, now open your eyes for me." _Wilsonrepeated his earlier request. This time House was successful. He managed to open his eyes a crack, but immediately clamped shut again. Cameron, realising the reason, ran to turn off the over head lights which had blinded her boss.

"_Sorry, the lights are off now, its safe to open your eyes." _The three doctors suddenly found themselves looking into a pair of unfocused, but beautifully sky blue eyes. They all beamed down at the man in the bed.

House seemed to barely register the people assembled around his bed. In fact he had not noticed them at all. He felt as though someone had poured treacle into his head, he felt sluggish and couldn't form proper thoughts. He felt like a weight was sat on his chest, preventing him from breathing deeply. Bright circles marked his field of vision and what was not caught in these spots was so blurred he could not make them out. The world seemed also to be spinning quite rapidly, causing the man in the bed to feel quite dizzy and nauseous.

He closed his eyes to try to shut out the world swimming past his vision, but it didn't help. Even with his eyes closed he could feel that the world was spinning. He began to feel as though the bed was dancing the waltz, taking him along for the ride. He opened his eyes again, hoping to slow the spinning. It didn't help. He gripped the edges of his bed, fearing he would be flung across the room if he didn't. He was vaguely aware of insistent voices calling to him. Again he was assaulted as a bright light was shone in his eyes. This made him feel even worse.

Wilson, Cuddy and Cameron were alarmed by apparent confusion in the doctor before them. He didn't notice them at all, couldn't seem to ground his vision. He didn't even respond when they called his name. Wilson decided to check his pupils again, maybe they hadn't been so responsive after all. As he straightened up he noticed the deathly pale colour his friend had turned. He grabbed his friend's shoulders and managed to turn him just in time to avoid a second change of cloths inside an hour. As the injured man helplessly retched onto the floor Cameron reached for a small basin, and Cuddy ran out to secure some anti emetics to stop the nausea. She also asked one of the nurses to page Dr Foreman.

When the retching finally stopped House was once again bathed in sweat and was shaking with exhaustion. His breathing was rapid and shallow, owing no doubt to the infection in his lungs. Wilson helped to roll him back onto his back and poured a little water into a beaker. He brought it to his friend's lips and was pleased to see him take a sip, coughing slightly as he swallowed.

After a few minutes House felt able to reopen his eyes, which had been clamped shut. Although the world was still spinning it had slowed considerably. Bright aura still marked his blurred vision but for the first time he was able to make out three shadowy figures hunched over his bed. They seemed to be looking down at him, waiting for him to do something. He felt a little uncomfortable under their scrutiny. He tried for some reassuring words but all he managed was _"ngg"._

Again he heard someone call to him but they still sounded far away. He tried to make out what they were saying, but failed. The voice sounded again, this time louder. It didn't seem to make any sense. It repeated, louder still. _House? What did that mean? He somehow knew that it must mean something but couldn't quite grasp it. _All of this effort had taken a lot out of the sick man. He could feel his eyelids beginning to close again, and couldn't seem to stop them.

The three doctors looked on as their friend lost his fight with consciousness. They were all very concerned. He made little effort to communicate and seemed confused. When Foreman arrived they relayed what had occurred in the past few minutes. His expression was unreadable as he explained that a severe head injury like House's would take time to recover from. If he wasn't permanently brain damaged it could take up to six months before he would recover.

While he slept Forman arranged for another scan to determine the extent of his brain activity, or damage. Within the hour he was wheeled down the corridor and brought to the MRI suite. No one seemed to enjoy the attention the unconscious House attracted. He had always hated people staring because of his cane, they were sure that scrutiny due to his head injury was even worse.


	9. Chapter 9

Cuddy was busy looking over the MRI results for House. Apart from the light patches which highlighted the original scar tissue from his injuries sustained, House's brain looked remarkably normal. For some reason she had expected it to look somehow different, more complicated. It didn't. Lost in thought she began to muse over how the brain of a genius could be indecipherable from any other brain.

At that moment the door swung open with a crack. Hamilton swaggered into the office, he was so self assured Cuddy was momentarily reminded of House. "_Dr Cuddy_" he demanded, his tone so sharp Cuddy felt herself tense up, ready to defend herself, and her hospital. "_What kind of a place are you running here_?" He thundered. "_I've just come from my wife's room, she has an infection. How can you treat patients properly if the rooms are so dirty they pick up infections, like cheap hookers_?" Cuddy blinked at the distinctly House like remark.

Cuddy had been informed of Mrs Hamilton's condition earlier in the day, she had been waiting for something like this to happen. It was an unfortunate fact of life that infections were present in hospitals, and Mrs Hamilton was immuno-compromised due to her burns. But Cuddy had the feeling this would not appease the young politician stood glowering in front of her. This was going to be another long day.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

Wilson stood over House's sleeping form, attempting to remove some of the sputum that had built up in House's lungs. As he tilted his head back and began to insert the suction tube into his patient's throat he began to gag. Wilson quickly removed the tube, just in time for House to begin vomiting again. Wilson grabbed a basin and held it under his friends chin. When he seemed to have finished Wilson snatched a wad of paper towels from a dispenser on the wall and set about cleaning up his friend when he noticed his eyes begin to open.

"_House."_ Wilson inquired.

This time he was rewarded when his friend slowly looked over to him. Wilson pulled his light from his pocket and shone it in his friend's eyes. Pupils reacted the way he hoped they would. House pulled away from the light that stung his eyes.

Wilson picked up his friends left hand. _"House, if you can understand what I'm saying squeeze my hand."_ A pause, Wilson was about to give up hope and lay the almost lifeless hand back onto the bed when he felt a small amount of pressure, then a definite squeeze. Wilson almost whooped with relief, but managed to compose himself. "_Great! Well done. Can you try to speak for me? Can you tell me your name?"_

Another pause, House slowly licked her lips, and swallowed a few times. His breathing had rapidly increased, his chest wheezed with the remaining infection, sweat clung to his brow. House was concentrating hard, he trawled through the fug in his brain, desperately sifting through the half formed thoughts and memories. Then he came upon it, the word that seemed to dance just out of his reach, the strange word people had been saying to him through the black haze of his semi consciousness. "_House" _he barely whisperedBut that was enough for Wilson. He pressed a button on House's bed which summoned a nurse and asked her to page Cuddy and Foreman. Before she left the room the nurse looked down at the doctor in the bed, Wilson swore he saw a ghost of a smile on her lips as she left the room to carry out his request.

Foreman had disappeared into House's room, insisting that he examine him alone. Wilson waited just outside, ready to leap in if called. Cuddy emerged from the lift, looking concerned until Wilson reassured her that House was once again awake. When Forman emerged he filled Wilson and Cuddy in on House's condition. He had blurred vision, poor coordination, weakness in his left side, and had poor reactions. He had no recollection of the accident or the weeks leading up to it. House also seemed to be a little confused and had not recognised his employee. Despite this Foreman assured Wilson that House could still make a full recovery, it was still very early after the head injury so Wilson should not worry yet.


	10. Chapter 10

Be warned, this chapter is a little intense. Hope it doesn't put you off.

House slept for the rest of the day and through the night. The next day he woke up late in the morning. The sound of the television made him stir. He slowly opened his eyes and looked for the sound that had disturbed his sleep. His eyes traveled over the small room, something about it was familiar but House couldn't decide what. He began to feel anxious. Where was he? Why did he hurt so much? He tried to suppress the panic that rose in his chest. He lay back on his pillow and closed is eyes trying to control his breathing. Pain marred his peace. His head throbbed dully, making thoughts difficult. Pain from his thigh radiated the length of the right side of his body. He found it difficult to draw in a deep breath, and when he did he ribs ached in protest. He felt something uncomfortable in his nose, when he swallowed he found he could feel it in his throat. He brought a hand up to investigate and found a tube inserted in his right nostril, tape held it in place.

What was this? He thought to himself in mild panic. What were these people doing to him, putting tubes in him while he slept? How many of these other injuries had these people caused him? He slowly removed the tape and began to pull at the tube. He gagged as it tickled the back of his throat. Horrified he watched as the tube just kept coming. Finally it was free. He let it clatter to the floor. He felt exhausted by this small effort and again lay his head back on the pillow.

At the sound a nurse entered the room to investigate. _"Dr House, it's good to finally see you awake. How are you feeling today?" _

He regarded her warily.

Then she noticed the discarded NG tube. _"Dr House, you of all people should know better than to remove medical equipment like that." _She tutted as she rounded the bed to pick up the tube. House tried not to flinch as she neared the bed.

"_I will have to page Dr Wilson and ask him to put it back." _With that she left the room. He instantly felt the tension leave his body, he was alone again. He went back to checking himself over, mentally noting every ache and pain.

HHHHHHHHHHHHH

Wilson hurriedly prepared the equipment he needed. He didn't relish the idea of forcing a tube into the stomach of a conscious House, but he felt hopeful as well. If House was being difficult, he reasoned, then surely he was feeling better, more like his old self.

Minutes later Wilson entered the room pushing a small trolley in front of him. He paused just beyond the doorway, hands deliberately placed on his hips in a parody of himself. He regarded the man in the bed.

Once again House tensed up. He watched the other man like a hawk. Wilson forced himself to sigh, still under the impression that his friend was on the road to recovery, before he spoke. _"You know that was a mistake, your body isn't ready for solid food yet. You are going to need this tube for at least a few more days…"_ His voice trailed off as he saw the expression on his friends face. His optimism faded. He saw the distrust and wariness. _"House, are you ok? Do you know who I am? I'm your friend, James Wilson. Remember?" _His voice was full of worry. The look on House's face didn't change. As Wilson stepped towards the bed he saw his friend stiffen up. He halted his progress.

"_What are you doing here?" _House growled, inching up the bed, so that he sat upright. Wilson could see the pain this small movement caused House. His instincts told him to

go to his friend, to prevent him from doing any damage by moving suddenly. He knew that at the moment there was no way he could do that.

House repeated the question, venom dripping from every word. Wilson was unnerved by this change in his friend's personality. He was obviously confused, agitated and, Wilson tried not to notice, scared.

Wilson had to try to make him calm down. _"It's okay. I just came in to see if you were okay. I'm not going to do anything." _He held his hands out in front of him to show his friend that he wouldn't try anything. House began to inch his way to the edge of his bed, preparing to climb down. His eyes dropped to the trolley in front of him. Wilson inwardly groaned. The sterile drape concealed a new NG tube, numbing spray and a fresh round of food supplements. Their bulky form could have looked like anything if you didn't know they were harmless.

Wilson couldn't prevent himself from taking a minute step forward. House spotted this and sprang down from the bed, ready to tackle his supposed attacker. His right foot landed first, and something House had not expected happened. It collapsed beneath him, pain shot through his mangled thigh. He tried to grab for the bed but the cast on his wrist got in the way. His left side collided with the metal railings. Pain exploded from his battered ribs, he could feel his recently repaired side rending. This time he didn't make an effort to catch himself. He crumpled to the floor.

Wilson rushed forward. His friend lay gasping on the floor, barely conscious. _"I need some help in here." _His voice betraying his composed outer exterior. House looked up at sound. Wilson saw hatred in his friend's eyes. He had never seen that look directed at him before. He fought back a wave of nausea as he realised something was very wrong with his friend.

Two nurses ran into the room and took in the scene before them. They rushed forwards to help Wilson lift House back into his bed. House stiffened as he felt hands on him. He summoned up the last of his strength and lashed out. His balled fist caught Wilson on the chin. The struck man crouched there with his hands on his friend. Stunned. For someone so sick he sure packed a punch. House began to struggle as the two nurses tried to restrain him. Rage spurred him on when Wilson called out for more help. Another nurse entered the room, Wilson ordered her to get a sedative and to page Foreman.

Pain tore through House's head causing him to gasp. Red spots erupted in his vision, his head swam. He had to hold on. He couldn't let these people win. Who knows what they had already done to him. He blindly kicked out with his left leg, pushing a nurse away, his right leg twisted underneath him painfully. He tore his left had free from a restraining grip and hit out at the man in front of him. Cast made contact with cartilage. Wilson cried out in pain, blood running down his face, onto his crisp white lab coat.

Finally the young nurse returned with a full syringe. House spotted it. He bellowed with anger, his lips pulled back in a snarl. The three people on the floor tangled up with House fought against his waning strength. Between them they were able to still all of his flailing limbs long enough for the scared young nurse to jab the needle into his arm, not bothering to swab.

Suddenly House's body no longer obeyed him. His arms felt like they had lead weights strapped to them. More red spots marred his sight. Darkness began to creep into the corners of his swimming vision. The last thing he saw before fell forward, lifeless, was the concern in the bloodied face before him, and the tears in the man's eyes.

Wilson detangled himself from his friend's lifeless limbs. He used the bed to lever himself to his feet. Wordlessly he turned and left the room, feeling the eyes of the three nurses he abandoned boring into his back.

He felt in his breast pocket for the handkerchief he had placed there the previous morning and clamped it to his pouring nose.

He reached the lift and pushed the button to summon it. His only thought was to reach his room before he broke. He fixed his eyes on a spot of his blood, marking the clean white floor tile ahead of him. He could feel tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, his throat was tightening. His breath was beginning to hitch in his chest. Hold it together! He told himself. The lift dinged and the doors slid smoothly open. He was about to step in when he bumped into someone, he looked up and saw Foreman, looking shocked and concerned. Wilson merely pushed past him, stepped into the lift and pressed the door close button. Leaving Foreman stunned in the corridor. He didn't stay there long as he heard calls for help from House's room.


	11. Chapter 11

Another intense one, sorry.

Forty-five minutes later Cuddy stormed into Wilson's office without knocking. She found him quickly pacing the small room. His shirt and lab coat stained brown with dried blood.

"_Do you want to tell me __what went through your mind when you left your friend lying unconscious on the floor?" _She demanded. The senior nurse on the scene had filled her in on what happened. She had never felt so angry with Wilson before. Anger was normally an emotion she reserved for House.

He whirled on her and Cuddy could see the red rings that circled his eyes. She looked away, strangely uncomfortable, she had never seen Wilson cry before. That was when she noticed the state of his office. His desk had been swept clear. Paper, pens, photo frames, and assorted ornaments were strewn across the floor. She saw utter hopelessness reflected in his face. Tears began to spill from his bloodshot eyes. He seemed to want to say something but couldn't compose himself. He collapsed into a nearby chair, head in his hands, his body wracked with shuddering sobs. Cuddy rushed over to him as all the worry, grief and pain from the past week broke through Wilson's defenses. She sat next to him and drew him into a comforting embrace. His wracking sobs surged through her. Then she could take no more. The emotions she too had barely been able to hold in check since the accident came spilling out. They stayed that way for a long time, wrapped in their grief and worry.

HHHHHHHHHHH

House became aware that he was awake long before he could open his eyes. He lay in his cramped bed, semi conscious, wrapped up in a blanket of his own pain. He was barely aware of the passage of time, which he rode on a narcotic high. When his head began to clear a little he became aware that his mouth felt dry, his tongue thick, and his head ached dully. He raised his right hand to rub his sore temples, he felt his hand jerk back down to the bed. He tugged it up again but it would go no further than a few inches off the bed. He tried the other arm, it too was retrained, pain tore through his battered ribs at this small movement, causing him to gasp. He groaned and began to force his eyes to open. The hospital room swam in front of his eyes. The overhead lights seemed much too bright, causing pain to build in his head.

House looked down and found that his arms were restrained. Something moved out of the corner of his eye and grabbed his attention. A woman he vaguely recognised sat by his bed looking at him intently. She had dark hair which stopped just above her shoulders. Her blouse was cut low to reveal the neckline of a much younger woman. All that registered with House was that she was attractive.

She spoke first. _"House…Are you with me."_

"_Yess" _He answered thickly, his glassy eyes said he was not. His eyelids were already becoming heavy.

He had been given too much sedative. He wouldn't be up to questioning just yet. Cuddy was determined to wait until he was. Everyone had put this off long enough. They needed to know exactly what his condition was. People had put this off because they were scared of what they might find. Even Foreman had kept his distance. That was not what House needed right now. If he had brain damage he needed treatment. They weren't doing him any favours by prolonging it.

Cuddy kept House company for the rest of the evening. He lay there dozing, she had brought some paper work to keep her company. She allowed no one else into the room, taking care of House's needs herself.

By late evening House opened his eyes again, he seemed a little more coherent.

"_House__" _Cuddy began again. A pair of blue eyes turned to look at her. She felt a small thrill of excitement pass through her. For over a week now she had doubted she would ever see those blue eyes again, now they were trained on her, intelligent and almost clear. _"How are you feeling?"_ She was concerned by the pain he seemed to be in. He looked at her blankly his eyes passing over her features, taking them in. Then his eyes fell to the restraints binding his hands.

She saw him stiffen up straight away. He looked at her accusingly. He began to pull at the restraints binding him to the bed. The change in him was immediate and shocking. The blank look was replaced by pure loathing.

"_What have you done to me you bitch? Let me go_!" He snarled.

Cuddy blinked in surprise. She had never seen him look so angry. She stepped towards the door a little afraid, then caught herself. She pulled herself up to her full height, took a deep breath then addressed him.

"_House, listen to me, you need to calm down_." House continued to fight against his restraints. "_House if you don't calm down I'll get a nurse to hold you down while I sedate you_." House only struggled harder.

"_If you don't let me go, I swear when I get out of here I'm gonna be waiting for you, and when I find you, you'll beg for mercy. You fucking bitch….fucking bitch."_ He continued when she didn't respond, spittle flew from his mouth, his face was contorted with rage. The entire bed was shaking with the man's efforts to free himself. Cuddy actually feared that he would manage to somehow break his restraints and would carry out his threat there and then. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she would pass out. She fled the room.

The hallway reverberated with the sound of House's anger. Chase had been checking on a patient in a nearby room. When he heard the commotion he came running, fearing a member of staff was being attacked. He met Cuddy, looking terrified in the hall outside House's room. She called for a strong sedative.

Chase followed his boss into House's room. House was sat up in bed, he had managed to pull one of the railings out of it's home and was currently working on freeing the hand bound to it.

"_Hold him_!" Cuddy shouted. Chase hesitated. What was going on? Why did House look so strange? Why was he chained to his bed? Why was Cuddy so scared? He didn't have to wait long for answers. House ripped his IV from his arm, causing blood to immediately well up. Then picked up the discarded bed rail and hurled it at Chase, hitting him square in the chest. Chase fell backwards, the wind knocked out of him. He decided to get answers later, right now the man in front of him needed to be dealt with. House was trying to free his other arm when Chase ran at him. House was ready, he picked up the bloodied IV needle and stuck it straight in Chase's chest, then pulled down so that the

needle broke, leaving a sliver of metal imbedded in the Australian's chest. Chase again stumbled backwards surprised, crying out in pain. But Cuddy was ready, she sprang forwards and before House could react jabbed her needle into his neck, releasing the sedative.

Before she could jump back House grabbed Cuddy by the throat and began to squeeze, his eyes were now shining in triumph. "_Now beg_." He sneered at her. Chase seized his arm and tried to break the vice like grip. House held strong. Cuddy could only stand there helpless, her nails clawing at his hands. She panicked as she tried to draw in breath but couldn't. She began to feel light headed. Then ever so slightly his grip loosened. He wavered, feeling the all too familiar pull of the drug induced sleep. Chase broke his hold, pulling Cuddy away his arms wrapped protectively around his boss, keeping her on her feet. Both stood well back as House lost his fight with consciousness and slumped back in the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry its taken me so long to update recently, I have been busy with a new job, plus I have had a little writers block. So apologies if you have been waiting.

Feedback on the last few chapters would be appreciated, I need to know if you think I'm on the right track. Sorry for the swearing in the last chapter, it had to be done.

The next chapters a bit of a short one, but I hope you enjoy anyway. Please R+R.

Five people assembled in the conference room. All looked bleak and exhausted. Each nervous set of hands clutched at steaming mugs of strong coffee, attempting to draw strength from the heat given off from the murky brown liquid. The five figures all sat hunched over the glass table their identical white lab coats were unable to hide the emotions that their owners felt.

Cameron's eyes kept wondering nervously to the angry bruise beginning to form on Cuddy's otherwise unblemished throat. Who in turn starred at the highly polished surface of the conference table, her hands visibly shaking around her coffee mug. Chase nursed the spot where the broken needle had just been extracting. His hands were shaking slightly. Wilson sat with his head in his hands, his own bruised face hidden temporarily from view. Foreman was the only one who attempted to remain stoic.

He had suggested that House had had two psychotic episodes. If this was the case House would need medication to control his aggression and hallucinations. Foreman assured everyone that if these symptoms were due to the head injury they could just be temporary, that they might fade in time.

"It might not have been the head injury." Cameron piped up. Everyone except Wilson turned to look at her. "We have to explore the possibility that House's behaviour was down to something else. A hormonal imbalance, or an adrenaline secreting tumour, over the years we have seen so many causes of psychotic episode. We could still eliminate these symptoms."

Cuddy simply nodded her head. She could not trust her bruised throat from betraying her emotions. She was finding it difficult to concentrate since she felt House's hands close over her exposed throat. She shuddered as she once again felt his burnt, injured hand closing round her throat, saw the wild look in his normally composed, if a little dilated eyes. She shook her head trying to clear the image. Her hands tightened desperately around the hot mug in front of her, ignoring the pain in her palms.

"_I'll_ _draw some blood to test in the lab while he's out_" Cameron looked around at her colleagues as if waiting for confirmation, or perhaps a warning to be careful. This time no one bothered to look up.

Cameron got up to leave "I'll go with you" Foreman followed her out, Cameron barely suppressed a sigh of relief as she left the room, she couldn't believe she felt his way but she didn't want to be left alone with House at the moment, whether he was conscious or not.

Chase also got to his feet "I_'m going to make an appointment for a HIV test_." This made Wilson look up. The young doctor simply shrugged his shoulders. "_I was contaminated with _House's_ blood, I'm not going to take my chances_." With that he was gone. Leaving the two older doctors alone. Neither felt ready to say anything just yet. They simply sat there lost in thought, relieving their last encounters with House. Steaming mugs of coffee clutched desperatly between their shaking hands.


	13. Chapter 13

Hi guys, sorry once again for the delay in updating.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last couple of chapters. I'm glad people enjoyed and were moved by them. Each review inspires me to write something exciting so thanks again.

Thank you to Zuki for letting me know that IV needles aren't metal, I had no idea, but I'm sure you wont hold it against me.

The next chapter is once again a short one but I wanted to look at the reactions of some of the ducklings as they try to digest what is going on with House. Hope its not too boring. Please read and review.

Cameron hesitated ever so slightly outside House's room, but it was enough for Foreman. He slid past her and slid the glass door silently open. He peered inside, trying to get a view of his boss from the doorway, the room was dark, making it hard. There was no way he could be awake, Foreman told himself. Nonetheless as he entered the darkened room he couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Steeling himself he approached the sleeping man on the bed. He reached out to touch his boss and jumped when the overhead lights suddenly flicked on. He looked over at Cameron, who tried to smile reassuringly, but couldn't seem to make her mouth turn up at the corners, instead all Foreman could see was a grimace.

Foreman cast his eyes over his boss, he looked better than he had since the accident. The swelling and bruising that had made House almost unrecognisable had now subsided, leaving his face his own. His hair was no longer plastered to his forehead with sweat. Even the ugly puckered scar that slashed across his hairline seemed to be a little less angry.

Cameron, drawing strength from Foreman, approached the bed. She too studied her boss, but not in the same way. Cameron studied the toll this hand taken on the man before her. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, deeper by far than they had been just over a week ago. Despite the sedation he looked exhausted. His hair was slightly greasy, a sign that the nurses were also avoiding him, but she noted sadly that it was also a lot greyer than it had been a week previous. He had aged so much this week. She hoped that she could cure him so that Wilson could make fun of his age.

This thought spurred her into action. Cameron set about drawing blood. Foreman began to check monitors, House's dressings and checked House's pupil reactions to light.

HHHHHHHHHHHH

Once again the team was assembled in the conference room. Once again steaming coffee mugs were sat in front of the five doctors. Each doctor was comforted by the smell the steaming black brews gave off. They had come accustomed to that smell early in their careers. Coffee had kept them awake during the long hours at med school, cramming for exams and completing assignments. Coffee was the sole reason they were able to stay awake during their thirty plus hour stints as interns. Over the years their bodies had become dependent on the bitter stimulant. Now when they smelt coffee they all somehow felt comforted. Coffee kept their fatigue at bay, it allowed them to function and do their jobs. The smell of coffee preceded relief.

Foreman contemplated the strong coffee in front of him, like the others he preferred not to look up and face the people around the table. Cameron was relating the results of the barrage of tests she had performed. All had proved negative. All that was left was Foreman's earlier diagnosis. This was one time when he didn't want to be right.

Foreman knew that the four other doctors in the room would look to him to direct the next course of treatment. He prolonged the moment by taking a long sip from his still hot coffee, drawing strength from the familiar feeling as it washed over his tongue and warmed his parched throat. Swallowing a few more times Foreman cleared his throat then spoke up. _"We need to tackle this properly. We need to call in someone from Psych who can consult on House's case. They can recommend the best medication to alleviate House's symptoms without interfering with everything he's already on." _He looked around the room, heads slowly nodded their accent but no one seemed able to tear their eyes away from the coffee in front of them. They all understood the implications of what Foreman had said. None of them was happy but they knew he was right. They had to call psych.

HHHHHHHHHH

A knock at the glass door brought everyone back to the present. A nervous young intern stood in the doorway, clearly intimidated by the experience and reputation of the doctors assembled in front of him. _"I.I.I was asked to give this to you, Dr Cuddy." _He barely stammered, thrusting a yellow hospital file into the Deans hands before turning on his heels and vacating the doorway.

Cuddy frowned at the chart in front of her. She had almost forgotten about Mrs Hamilton. Fearing the worst Cuddy opened the file and cast her eyes over the latest notes scrawled almost unintelligible. A sign escaped her lips. She forced herself to look up, knowing that all eyes in the room were on her. _"Mrs Hamilton's infection had finally cleared up, she's awake, alert and comfortable." _


	14. Chapter 14

Hello to everyone sticking with this story. Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I must be punished!

I have done research on the net and tried to make the medical realism as accurate as possible. If I have in any way gotten it wrong I apologise, there is only so much info a layman can understand.

As ever if you have any comments please feel free to leave them. I always welcome anything, no matter how small. Hope you enjoy.

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Wilson stood over his friend, he nervously fingered the syringe in his hand as he looked down at the man sedated on the narrow hospital bed. He secretly thanked the strong drugs running through House's system for keeping him unconscious. He didn't think he could face his friend if he was awake. Just being in the same room with him was making the oncologist nervous. His hand instinctively came up to touch his bruised nose. House had never been that angry with him before. He had certainly never hit him before. Wilson tried to tell himself that House didn't know what he was doing, it was the head injury. That it was all down to the woman who hit him. But some small part of Wilson couldn't help but think that somehow House knew how Wilson had avoided him in the first few days of is convalescence. That he blamed him for all those hours he spent alone, in the clutches of the ICU nurses. Nurses he had terrorised every day from the moment he came to work at this hospital.

Wilson looked up as one of the nurses entered the room, she had with her the hard restraints Cuddy had ordered. James was barely able to watch as House was strapped to the unwieldy restraints, and secured to the bed. When he awoke he would barely be able to more, let alone hurt anyone. As the young doctor watched morosely he noticed the angry bruises that were beginning to darken his friend's upper arms, bruises caused by people having to restrain the frantic House. Wilson tore his eyes away from his friend only to be faced with the sympathetic looks from the nurses in the hallway.

The rumour mill had been working overtime. By now every member of staff working at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital had heard the sad new twists in the saga of the most renowned doctor in the hospital. They had discussed and shared their opinions on House for years, and the new chapter in the story, House attacking his friends was the best bit of gossip since House was shot in his own conference room. It was amazing just how many staff had been 'present' to restrain House during his first episode. Most members of staff were able to describe in minute detail the look on his own face as House savagely pummeled him savagely with his cast. They also enthusiastically discussed how the woman who had caused all this, who had crushed House with her huge car and was consequently saved by him, was conscious and well, set to make a full recovery with little long term problems. While House looked like he may never be himself again.

Wilson forced himself to ignore the false sympathy offered by the nurses in the hallway and instead began to go over the day ahead of him. He had ensured that all of his patients were covered for the day, today he would spend with House. Right now Wilson was awaiting Dr Debbie Santos the Psychiatrist. He had spoken to her the previous day and had filled her in on House's condition and the events of the previous week. She had agreed to take on his case. She had written a preliminary prescription for a low dose of Haldol, the Haldol Wilson now fingered nervously in his hands. The dose of which would be reviewed once House woke up and they could assess his state of mind. The medication only needed a few hours to take affect, then they would try waking House. Wilson, Foreman and Dr Santos would be the only ones present, not because the others were busy, but Wilson thought darkly, because they were afraid of what they would see once their friend regained consciousness.

Wilson couldn't reign in his thoughts as they drifted back to Mrs Hamilton, he couldn't help but resent her miraculous recovery. Granted, she still had months of painful operations and rehabilitation ahead of her but at least she was awake and lucid. She didn't have to be sedated and strapped to the bed because a massive brain injury caused her to think her friends were using her for bizarre medical experiments. At the moment Foreman, Cameron and Chase were with her, assessing her condition. Wilson resented Mrs Hamilton the fact that House's ducklings would rather monitor her than their own boss, their own friend.

Wilson brought himself back to the present. He had to administer the dose before he could even think about what the rest of the day had in store. Steeling himself, and ignoring the knot of fear twisting his stomach uncomfortably, he swabbed House's new IV port with shaky hands and brought up the medication ready to inject it. As he pushed the meds he tried not to think of the implications. He tried not to think about what House would be like when he woke up. He tried not to think about how House would juggle taking his pain meds, anti convulsion meds and now the Haldol, when he could barely keep himself together just taking the Vicodin. Sighing, Wilson deposited the spent needle in the sharps container and eased his tired aching body into the hard visitors chair by House's bed and began to wait for the medication to take effect.

House now had the new medication in his system for three hours. He was stable, his breathing was no longer compromised by the pneumonia, all his vitals checked out and he had just had a top up on his pain medication. His sedation had been backed off at the same time the Haldol was administered. House would soon be waking up.

HHHHHHHHHH

Distorted noises floated out of the blackness. Snatches of conversation drifted over Gregory House, but he was unable to make out individual words or even voices. This didn't bother him, he let the voices wash over him as he lay in a comfortable, numb cocoon waiting for the drugs to come back for him. The silence soon won over again. He settled back into peaceful oblivion.

Some time later they were back. This time less garbled. More focused. Individual voices began to break away from the general hum. He was able to identify three distinct voices from the gabble, two of which seemed vaguely familiar.

One of the voices came to him louder than the other two, it sounded almost urgent, but House couldn't make out what it was saying just yet. The blackness began pulling at him again. Again he let himself float away into the warmth and peace of the dark.

Later still and the voices came to House for a third time, this time they were quite low, talking softly, as if to avoid disturbing someone. This time something about the voices caught his attention. He no longer wished for the darkness to take him away. This time he struggled against it, struggled to pull himself into the conscious world.

The voices around him pierced through the haze. They hadn't yet noticed that he was awake, their voices remained constant, whispering, covert. He still couldn't make out the words yet but the tone came clearly to the wary man on the bed. They were talking about him. They didn't think he was awake yet, or else they surely wouldn't talk with him present.

Gradually House became aware that his whole body was aching. He felt like he had been lying down for weeks. Where his skin came into contact with the narrow, firm mattress his skin felt raw. His leg, which had previously been enveloped in a comfortable numb drug induced blanket began to hurt. The pain intensified with each passing minute. Unable to hold its awkward skewed position on the bed any longer the injured leg began to twitch.

The low mumbled conversation drew to a close as someone noticed the movement from the bed. A quick scan of the monitors told the doctor that the man hooked up to the machines was awake.

Wilson took it upon himself to engage with his friend. "_House, you with us Buddy?"_

Something about the voice made House want to obey it. He struggle against the sedatives and forced his eyes to open.

Blue eyes slowly appeared free from their drug induced prison. They peered sluggishly around the cramped room, soaking in the scene before him. People loomed over the narrow bed where the dazed man was held firmly captive. One shadowy figure broke away from the other two and approached the head of the bed slowly, warily, hands held in up in front of him in plain sight. Telling the man on the bed that he meant him no harm.


	15. Chapter 15

Wilson slowly approached the bed

Wilson slowly approached the bed. Now that he had made the first move he was unsure of what to do next. He didn't want House to sense his fear, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to risk touching his friend just yet. He could try talking to him, but what could he say that he hadn't said already. That wouldn't sound clichéd and overly sentimental. He could always wait for Foreman or Santos to talk, but since he had already initiated contact they might have decided to leave it up to him. That just left things up to House, and on the best of days he hated reaching out to anyone. Let alone when he was lying strapped to a bed, drugged, vulnerable, with his best friend, his employee and a stranger peering at him from above. Wilson sighed. He felt completely lost. He wished House could tell him what to do, force a course of action upon him, the way he normally would.

He knew that it was ridiculous, but since the moment Wilson had seen his friend lying in the ICU looking so pale and ill he had imagined two Houses. One who stood over his shoulder so strong and sure of himself, telling Wilson how he should be behaving, raging at him every time he showed any weakness, any emotions. The one who would swagger in that strangely graceful way he had been force to adopt since the infarction, and tell him rude jokes, or who would leer at Cuddy when he knew she was looking.

The other House lay in front of him now, weak and scared, his emotions in full view, for everyone to see. Wilson couldn't quite repress the slight feeling of revulsion he felt when he looked at this new House. What was more, he knew the old House would feel exactly the same.

Taking a deep breath, Wilson knew he had to do something to try to bring his old friend back, and the first step would be to make contact. Slowly he lifted his arm, a trembling hand reached towards the starched, sterile bed. Greg recoiled in horror. They already had him strapped to the bed, strange drugs were coursing through his system, making it hard for him to concentrate, he was weak, pathetic, but he was damned if he was going to voluntarily let them touch him, pretend to be on his side to have a cooperative, malleable patient. No! He would fight them, even if it took his last ounce of strength. Once again he began to pull against his restraints. Hard, cracked leather bit into his pliant, mortal flesh. He ignored the pain and fought on.

As James reached out to the bed, to his friend, he tried to repress a shudder as Greg pulled away. The terror in his eyes barely perceptible to anyone else was so obvious to the young man who usually marveled at his friend's strength. At times like this, when House was obviously terrified, Wilson could glimpse snapshots of the old House, seeping though the weakness. It was at times like these when House fought, fought against his illness, fought against the drugs, his fear, even himself. This was House.

Dr Santos stepped in at this moment, she may not have met House before, but she was able to read him almost as well as Wilson. She saw the fear. She also saw how strong he was. That he would fight them all, that he would risk hurting himself to get away from them. Lastly that this wasn't normal behaviour for him, that the dose of Haldol she had given him was not enough. She would have to up the dose. She called for a nurse, who appeared hovering in the doorway, fearful of entering the room fully until she knew that House would not be a danger to her.

A mild dose of sedatives ordered, Dr Santos turned back to her new patient and steeled herself before making contact with him.

Now that she had moved closer to the bed House calmed slightly but continued to eye her warily. Who was this stranger that so easily assumed control? She rounded the bed all too soon, and stood close to his right elbow. Slowly, almost imperceptibly he began to shift his position, so that he could lever himself into a sitting position if she tried anything. He continued to strain at his restraints, he was sure that his wrists were bleeding, but that was the least of his worries.

The young female doctor stared down at him from her elevated position, her eyes seemed to drill into the disadvantaged House, he felt that she had access to his every thought and feeling. He could see her weighing up all that she had learned about him so far, analysing his weaknesses before she felt ready to strike. Before her eyes Santos watched a wall go up, House buried all of his emotions, his fear, his curiosity, his pain: this would be a long session.

At that point the nurse returned with the prescription. House tensed and glared at the nurse, who hesitated. Foreman snatched to syringe from her and also approached the bed. The nurse, freed from her obligations fled into the safety of the well lit, House free, corridor.

The young psychiatrist took a slight breath to control her nerves and began to approach the bed. She swiftly administered the top up meds and rounded on her newest patient. Before her eyes he began to relax as the drugs took hold of him. The tension around his eyes eased, his lids drooped slightly, but not all the way. He was ready.

"_Dr House, my name is Dr Santos. I'm here for a little chat…"_

A pair of unfocused eyes scanned the room languidly, barely skimming the faces of the men so familiar to him, before eventually settling on the female doctor in front of him. However, as she spoke it was obvious that she has made little impact upon him. House seemed bored by what she was saying, and was now yawning widely.

"_OK. I'll get straight down to business then. Dr House… look around you. Who do you see in the room? Is anyone familiar to you?"_

Long seconds passed before her words seemed to register with the man in front of her. When they did he grudgingly did as he was told, the medication making him more compliant. His gaze finally settled on Wilson, who seemed familiar. He continued to stare, memories began to float out of the fog. He knew the man in front of him, they were friends. They had been for a long time.

Santos, encouraged by this connection began. _"Do you know this man." _A slight nod of the head told the Doctor all she needed to know. _"Can you tell me his name?"_

"…_Willssoon" _He slurred. A relieved sigh from around the room startled the man in the bed so he jumped slightly and broke contact, looking around, alarmed.

Santos' soothing words came to him, calming him a little. _"It's ok. We are here to help you. Look at your friend, he's not going to hurt you. You're safe here."_

House seemed to consider this a moment. Thinking over how much danger he was really in. Confused wondering why he thought his friend might hurt him, but then not really trusting him, just in case. He looked over at Wilson again, who gave a small smile of encouragement, which broadened when he saw House relax a little.

The original consult lasted only half an hour. But by the end of it House could barely string a sentence together, his eyes were unfocused and his eyelids were becoming harder to control. The three doctors knew there was nothing more they could do. The patient had made progress, Santos was able to make a connection with him, and he in turn had reached out to Wilson. He was still very confused and not his old self, but new they could see that there was some hope. House was asleep before the three doctors quietly left the room.


	16. Chapter 16

Cameron and Chase entered Mrs Hamilton's room

Cameron and Chase entered Mrs Hamilton's room. She was propped up in bed, a trashy soap blared on the small television fixed to the wall opposite her bed, although the strong drugs designed to block her pain, reduce infection and maintain her normal vitals meant that it was near impossible that she was awake enough to follow even a soaps simple story.

The two young doctors had been forbidden from witnessing House's assessment by Santos. Wilson and Cuddy had both agreed that to avoid later embarrassment on House's part that those exposed to him in his confused state would be limited to a select few. This way when he was better, if he ever was, he wouldn't have to worry that half the hospital has something over him.

Rather than sitting aimlessly in their lonely conference room they quickly decided they would keep themselves busy. Cameron had never had any problems tending to Mrs Hamilton or her difficult husband. However Chase was struggling. He couldn't look at the woman on the bed without thinking about what she had done to his boss. Without wanting to scream in her scarred, swollen face about how selfish she was driving under the influence of drugs.

He knew that people thought he was heartless. That he was more concerned about furthering his career than making any lasting friendships. For the most part this was true.

Growing up he was an unhappy child. He had no siblings. His mother drank herself into a stupor most days, her nights were spent alone in her expansive bedroom, reliving her lost days of happiness. His father had made it clear that he didn't want anything to do a woman like Chase's mother, he thought her weak, self indulgent. His young son was an annoyance that could jeopardise his ambitions.

Robert Chase had friends at school, he was a likeable kid, funny, intelligent, athletic. However, he struggled to make any strong connections with any of his classmates, he had no close friends to unburden his problems to. Whose parents would feel sorry for him and take him in when his mother disappeared for days on end, when his father didn't check up on him for months or even years. The only people he could turn to were employed by his father to ease his conscience.

This was the way it was with Chase throughout his life. He had friends, but few were close, he had lovers, but none lasted. Despite this, no matter how long he had been alone he still hated it, he hated only having himself for company, with his dark brooding thoughts. For a while he turned to God for comfort, nearly found contentment with a new extended family. But this was a lie. He didn't believe. He hated himself for lying to those who were so good to him. Late one night he snuck out leaving only a note of thanks for those who had shown him such love and friendship, who had tried to heal his deep wounds.

When his mother finally succumbed to her addiction he gave up his privileged, lonely life for a new one in America.

He did well at med school, got good grades, was always chosen for the most prestigious positions and his patients seemed to like him. However, he always suspected his father had some hand in his successful new career. That favours had been called in, strings pulled, deals made. At first he resented his father's meddling, finally he decided that if his father was going to finally show an interest in his son, this was better than actually having to meet him face to face. This way he got what he wanted, and his father, conscience appeased would feel no need to meet up.

When Chase came to Princeton Plainsboro, at first he thought he had made a mistake. His strange new boss was arrogant, cruel, a tyrant to work for. There were no interesting cases, his boss, somewhat of a recluse had refused to take on patients for fear that he might have to meet them and see the pity in their eyes at his cane, his still unsteady, awkward gait, his pain and regret.

When the cases finally began to come in, Chase was able to finally use everything he had learned at med school. When he went home at night he was too tired to think about his loneliness. He began to spend more time at work than he did in his tiny, one bedroom apartment.

He began to slowly realise that he had made friends. That he cared what happened to those around him. He recognised in his boss someone equally lonely, someone just as lost. He began to look passed the disturbing disregard for his patient's feelings, ignored the scathing comments, and saw the brilliant man underneath. Saw the connections he made with the few people he trusted. He began to care for House, almost like a father figure. And why not? House had taught him, guided him, protected him, punished him, sometimes even praised him. Is that not what a father does?

Since the accident he had more or less stayed away from House's room, tried to keep himself busy so he wouldn't have to think about what he had almost lost, what he might still lose. He had made inappropriate comments so that others wouldn't see just how scared he was, so that they couldn't see that he had learned to build walls almost as strong as his mentor's. When House had attacked him the previous day he managed to keep it together until he was safe at home, then he let his pain and fear out, he wept on the floor of his living room for hours, and woke the next morning cramped, stiff and drained.

Chase brought himself back to the present. Cameron was staring at him, concern written across her compassionate face. He now realised she had been talking to him, when he didn't answer, didn't move, she came over, calling his name.

"_Sorry, didn't get much sleep last night. What __did you say?"_

He could see her about to probe further when he gave her a 'drop it' look that would have made House proud. Cameron hesitated, then turned towards the bed, unconvinced that there was not more to his story but too concerned with her own problems to deal with his. After that they worked together quietly, each sensing the other's reluctance to talk.

When Mr Hamilton came in sipping a latte, talking too loudly on his mobile phone they both tensed. Frustrated by his lack of consideration, by his arrogance at breaking the hospital's no phones policy. He barely looked at his wife or the two young doctors as he sat down and put his feet up on the starched, white sheets of his wife's sickbed.

When the young politician thrust his empty coffee cup at Chase to dispose of the young man snapped. He turned his pain on the unscrupulous, vain man in front of him. _"What do you think you're doing? I'm a doctor, not your maid!.. What are you doing here anyway? There are no journalists here to write a report on the husband of the year, taking care of his poor, sick wife. No board members to feign sincerity to so you have to backing of the hospital. There are no patients you can exploit to make yourself look like a hero. Why are you here?"_ These last words he spat out as if they were poison. The whole time he was shouting he could feel Cameron at his side, could hear her pleads for him to leave it, to leave the room, to shut up, but he couldn't. Mrs Hamilton shifted on the bed, turned towards the commotion, scared, confused but still not lucid. All were tense but the man on the chair, he barely reacted to these cutting remarks. He was a politician to the core, he was in control of his feelings and knew what to say and do to get the correct reaction.

"_Doctor…Chase, is it? I've seen you around. I know people like you. Arrogant, shallow, obsessed with how others see you, but you don't care what you do for your perfect image. You think that just because you managed to scrape through med school, that because you're here taking care of my wife, that I owe you something. I don't! You are nothing. You don't seem to realise that guys like you can be replaced. There are always arrogant, smart young punks to take your place. I could have you replaced with one phone call. You don't know power like that. So unless you wanna say something you are really gonna regret you're gonna take this cup, throw it in the trash and get me a fresh one." _Hamilton was now stood nose to nose with Chase, his cup held out to the man before him. Confident in his ability to intimidate the man in front of him. Assured of his ability to replace him on a whim. Convinced that he was the scariest fucking man Robert Chase had ever met.

Chase tore the cup from the other man's grip, looked into his eyes and saw smugness; convinced that he had successfully dominated the young doctor, the smile in his eyes crept to the corners of his mouth. He turned his head slightly, caught Cameron's eye and winked.

Chase suddenly threw the half empty coffee cup to one side, so that it collided with the glass door, exploding. Creamy coloured liquid slowly snaked its way down the glass, its tracks disturbed as the door was wrenched open. Chase stalked out into the corridor, his face crimson with barely contained rage, his breathing fast and shallow. Cameron followed close on his heels, skipping slightly to keep up with her co-worker, trying to stay with him so she could make sure he didn't do anything stupid.


	17. Chapter 17

Following her initial consult with House, Santos called a meeting to discuss the results of her exam. She walked into the unfamiliar, spacious conference room, attached to House's office, feeling a little out of her comfort zone. She was used to conducting meetings in her own private office, with brick walls and wooden furniture and her own team. However she had assessed the fragile nature of the people in front of her and determined that they needed familiarity, they needed to feel a connection to the real House instead of the man lying sick and helpless in a room down the hall.

As Santos approached the glass (why so much glass? Was this an ego thing? Santos told herself to stop trying to analyse House and get on with the diagnosis) table she noticed a whiteboard with symptoms scrawled all over it: hallucinations, aggression, anxiety, paranoia, agitation, and stopped to ponder over it. They seemed to sum up what she was thinking. She sighed and slid into the chair nearest to her. Expectant eyes followed her every move. She had better get this over with. "After reviewing the information and going over the patient's medical fi"

"Dr House." Cameron whispered.

"Excuse me" Santos faced the young doctor.

"His name is Dr House, not 'the patient'. I think he's earned some recognition, not to be just another patient." OK, Santos thought, this was going to be tough.

"I apologise, I didn't mean any offense." Cameron nodded and lowered her eyes to the table again. Santos cleared her throat, then took another breath steeling herself to continue with her diagnosis. "As I was saying, after reviewing Dr House's file," With this amendment she nodded to Cameron, who looked up briefly and nodded. "I came across some worrying findings." Santos saw Cuddy and Wilson exchange nervous glances Cameron and Chase shuffled restlessly in their chairs, while Foreman did his best to hide his emotions behind a blank mask devoid of feelings. "It seems that Dr House has been subjected to an interesting schedule. I spoke to the nursing staff and found that Dr House has been receiving an unusually high number of visitors, day _and_ night, as such his overhead lights are often kept on until late into the night. I was also told that he has recently detoxed from a prolonged course of pain medication. As professionals I hope you realise the effects these things can have on a patient, particularly one who have suffered a severe trauma, and who is being treated in an environment such as the ICU" With these last words she was determined to hold the gazes of those in front of her, to make them see just what they had done to their friend. But seeing the sudden comprehension play over their faces and the horror this caused them she couldn't help but lower her gaze to the notes in front of her.

"Wait a minute…" It was now Wilson's turn to speak up. "Sleep deprivation, abnormal sleeping patterns and a change in meds; that all points to ICU psychosis. But… that's impossible. He was in a coma, he has been sedated. He wasn't sleep deprived… he was asleep for a week!"

"I'm sorry, Dr Wilson I've seen this before, a number of times, as I'm sure you have. I know the symptoms and I trust my judgement." She let this sink in, then continued. "I've had my team run a number of other tests to try to rule out other causes, I'm pleased to tell you he hasn't suffered a stroke, nor does he have low blood sugar or dehydration. That just leaves the environmental causes."

"But those are the things that we control, are you saying that we did this to House? I stayed up with him a lot of nights, so did Cuddy, we all did. We all knew he was detoxing from the vicodin and let it happen, we though we were doing him a favour." Wilson's face had a look of barely contained dread and a thick cloying layer of guilt. Santos could also see a barely detectable trace of hope; hope that there was a way he hadn't had a hand in causing House's latest set of symptoms.

"I think it's likely that there are a number of factors in causing this. He had massive head trauma, a virulent infection, was intubated and has been heavily medicated, add to this a lack of orientation to time and date, and constant monitoring and continuous lighting, it all fits. I'm sorry."

The group of people in front of her stared around the room; different emotions playing across each face, all struggling to contain their inner turmoil. "The good news is this is easily treatable. We need to normalise his sleep pattern, reduce the number of vitals checks at night and we need to review his meds. We also need to get him as healthy as possible, as soon as possible. The sooner he leaves that room the sooner his symptoms should go away. I'm also recommending Haloperidol to alleviate his symptoms."

Again the room shifted uncomfortably. Cuddy spoke up this time. "Haloperidol? It can cause some pretty severe side effects.

"There is a risk side effects, as with any medication. However the severe ones are uncommon; and the gains far outweigh the risk. As I said we need to get Dr House out of that room and the best way to do that is to get him to relax so he can sleep and heal."

Cuddy sighed shakily and rubbed her face wearily. "I can't believe we didn't see this. It happens in about a third of our ICU patients. Why didn't we _see_ this?" She got out of her chair, almost knocking it to the floor in her haste. She looked around the room then, as if not knowing what to do next. Santos really felt for Cuddy at this point, she was clearly very close to her latest patient and was extremely troubled but this turn of events. Santos was about to go to Cuddy and offer some words of comfort when the older woman apparently made up her mind. She strode out of the room heading for House, and was gone before her recently vacated chair finally ceased it's wobbling.


	18. Chapter 18

Wilson felt like he had to get out of the hospital, he didn't care that it was ridiculously early he just couldn't wait around for the rest of the day, playing the caring doctor, swallowing the emotions he couldn't bottle up any longer. As he left House's conference room he felt more jaded than he had felt since this whole tragic incident began. Everything he had done for House so far played through his head, but now instead of feeling some measure of pride that he had been able to help House recover from his injuries he began to doubt all that he had done.

That traumatic first night as House coded he was ready to call time of death, something that would haunt him for a long time to come. He had let House detox from the Vicodin without even considering the effects this could have on his best friend. He hadn't even thought House's life threatening infection was worth investigating further; if Cameron hadn't caught it House wouldn't be here now. Then he came to the big one. That he and those closest to House had caused House's psychosis and hadn't even realised it. This was why doctors didn't treat friends and family, they were too close. They read too much into some symptoms while ignoring others.

He spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed trying to find his way to a dreamless sleep. He was unsuccessful, when his alarm went off at six he was waiting for it.

Now, as he stepped into the hospital he stifled a huge yawn and began trudging through the brightly lit corridor, squinting slightly as the light stung his tired eyes. Wilson briefly considered going straight to his office and holing up for the day, letting the world turn without him. He dismissed the idea as soon as it entered his head. This wouldn't take long and would save him hours of worry and guilt. His resolve strengthened, Wilson marched down the corridor without further hesitation.

The day shift had just begun, Wilson barely glanced at the nurses sipping strong coffee and gossiping about their journeys in, how their kids were doing in school and what they had last seen on television. They, in turn, didn't even acknowledge Wilson as he quietly slipped into House's room and picked up his chart. House's reputation among the nurses was infamous, as were his strange relationships with Wilson, Cuddy and his team. The nurses couldn't understand why these people cared so much for such a cantankerous, flawed man. His recent heroism was almost forgotten.

Skimming through the thick charts in front of him Wilson didn't note any changes in his condition. His friend had, for once, slept soundly and his vitals were good. He had been started on Halperidol. His body was slowly mending and, Wilson desperately hoped, so was his mind.

He began to check all the monitors, carefully documenting everything he saw. When he was done he began a neuro exam. Firstly he went to the foot of the bed. Exposing House's feet he tested the reaction to Wilson's pen grazing the bottoms, normal. Next he picked one of House's hands and pressed his nail into his friend's nail bed, wincing as the prone man in front of him jerked his hand slightly, groaning at sudden the pain caused to him. It wasn't the perfect reaction, but it was probably the best he was going to get, given all the medication he was on.

Then he took his small pen light from his breast pocket. He slowly approached the head of the bed and looked down to his friend. Before reaching to open the closed lids he hesitated. His hand hovering, seeming to take control, it moved towards the patch of shaved hair and the scar that taunted him. Wilson touched the soft hair. It wasn't greasy like the previous morning, Cuddy must have spoken to the nurse, read them the riot act on not taking care of their patient's needs. His thumb wandered over to the scar, pulling the skin taut to check that it was healing correctly, and for any signs of infection. Again, the man on the bed groaned slightly, his healing wound must still be sensitive. Satisfied that House would suffer no more infections he moved his hand away, feeling guilty that he had caused his friend more pain.

Wilson was about to leave his friend in peace when he remembered the pen light in his hand, he hadn't yet completed his neuro check. Turning the small light on and testing the beam on his hand, Wilson once again reached down for his friend. Lifting House's left eyelid he swept the small light across his friend's eye, noting the way the pupil constricted in return. Again he was met with a slight moan. He felt House's hand raise, but his swipe missed Wilson completely.

"_It's OK House, it's Wilson, I'm just doing a neuro check, go back to sleep." _House groaned again in response, his eyelids fluttering softly.

Wanting to get his task over with quickly, so that House could rest, Wilson moved onto the second eye. House's right eye reacted the same way. Wilson sighed with relief. Relief that his friend's condition hadn't once again taken a turn for the worse and relief that he had finished.

His sigh was echoed by the man in front of him. House was waking again.

Breath hitched in Wilson's throat. He looked down at the man, unsure of what to do. Should he remain quiet, unbreathing and hope that his friend would fall back into a deep sleep or should he try to wake him, and see if the meds were actually working.

The decision was made for him as House attempted to open his eyes, groaning at the effort. Wilson bent closer to the bed, whispering softly so he didn't startle the groggy patient. _"Hey House, it's OK, you're fine. Can you open your eyes for me?"_ Again a soft groan answered him. House was struggling to regain control over his body, struggling against the drugs and the head injury, but at least he was fighting.

Again his eyelids fluttered, almost rhythmically as he struggled to wake. As he grew stronger his efforts grew stronger too, until finally he was able to open them half way. For a moment he struggled to focus, blank eyes rolling back in his head. He blinked pulling them forwards again, but they still refused to obey him, rolling again.

His eyes closed again, as House tried to summon enough energy to control his body. When he next opened his eyes he was able to keep them relatively still. He blinked a couple more times. When he was finished his eyes were relatively focused, if a little dilated, but the effort seemed to have taken a lot out of him, he looked exhausted.

"_Hey man." _Wilson ventured, not sure what else to say, but wanting to make the first move.

"_Hey" he _rasped back quietly, unable to summon up the energy to raise his voice. Looking around he seemed to notice where he was for the first time. He blinked in confusion, not remembering why he was in hospital. _"What…?" _He began to rise but a sharp pain in his ribs caused him to hiss in pain and lower himself gently back onto the bed.

"_Easy, you have a couple of broken ribs." _House looked at him questioningly._ "You were in a car accident… Do you remember?" _ Wilson studied the face in front of him for any sign of recognition but found none, House shook his head slightly, a look of disquiet settled over his face. Despite House's obvious memory loss Wilson still felt a thrill of hope pass through him. For the first time since the accident House was awake, lucid, and interested in what had happened to him. There were no signs at the moment of the panic that gripped him when he had woken up recently, there were no signs of violent or abnormal behaviour.

However, Wilson had learned from past experience not to let his hopes get carried away. Not to put too much hope in House's current behaviour. Taking advantage of House's calm state Wilson decided to complete a few more checks, to try to determine how much damage was actually done to his friend.

"_What's the last thing you remember?"_


	19. Chapter 19

Hi everyone, I know you had to wait practically forever for me to update. All I can say is sorry, I got major writers block, I finally got my answer in a readers digest magazine I read in a waiting room. Thanks to those who have kept with the story. I apologise in advance if I keep you waiting in the future.

Hope this is worth the wait.

HHHHHHHH

"She needs a skin graft." Cuddy glowered at the powerful man in front of her. "She shouldn't be moved until she has had the graft and we are confident that it has taken." Cuddy struggled to remain calm under the arrogant gaze of the man towering over her desk.

"I don't care about all that, it can wait until she is in a decent hospital. I'm not going to leave my wife in a place where the staff has such disregard for suffering family members, for people caring for their loved ones, for people who have _donated money_ to this worthless hospital. Does this Doctor Chase…" He spat out last word as if it had caused him pain. "…Does he know that I'm the one paying for the treatment of his boss… What's his name?...House, is it? At great expense to myself." Cuddy tensed up as she heard the name she clung to like a mantra, coming out of this man's arrogant, conceited mouth. "If he knew half the things I have done for this place in recent weeks he would come crawling to me, begging me to keep doing what I'm doing, begging me to change my mind and keep him on as my personal errand boy. But I'm way past compassion now, after what that punk did to me. So I'll say it again, either Dr Chase is gone or I'm yanking my wife out of this hell hole." As he finished his diatribe he dropped into the chair in front of Cuddy's desk. Showing her that he wasn't moving until he had an answer that was satisfactory to him.

"Mr Hamilton" Cuddy purred in a voice she usually reserved for pointing out the obvious to a fixated House bent on madness. "You really must see that moving Sarah now is out of the question, she is recovering from major burns and a virulent infection. It is not the best time to put her body under the added strain of moving her. Once she's had the grafts and is on her way to recovery then we can talk about moving her to another facility."

"Then your mind is made up." The man in front of Cuddy leaned back easily in his chair, a portrait of an egotistical victor, just returned from battle. "You're going to let Dr Chase go." This was not a question, it was stated as fact, as if any other answer was inconceivable.

Cuddy sighed, this was not going to be easy, if it was possible this man was worse than House, as least she had a connection with House. She knew what would sway him; curb his obsessive charge towards the truth. And above all she knew there was a store human compassion hidden deep down under House's layers of cold, clinical intellect. This man in front of her was a mystery, apart from his reputation and power she didn't really know what drove him. Then it occurred to her, now was the time for a change in tact.

"Mr Hamilton, I can see that there is no way of changing your mind on this topic. It's a shame because once Chase leaves there is no way of controlling who he might speak to…" At last she could see she had the attention of the man in front of her, he had been picking lint from the immaculate lapel of his woolen, tailored suit but his hand halted in midair, momentarily forgotten. She continued. "At least, while he is working here, he won't speak to the press about the things he has seen here; he fears for his job too much. But if I let him go…" Here she paused for effect, and to determine if what she was saying was getting through the layers of hair wax and starch; it looked like it was. "If I let him go… then he is free to speak to anyone he wants. You haven't said anything incriminating in front of him have you?" Cuddy looked across her desk at him with innocent eyes, forcing her face to remain impassive. She could win this!

His scarlet face barely contained the rage he was holding in but he managed to keep his voice dangerously level. "Are you threatening me Dr Cuddy?" He glowered at Cuddy, no longer leaning back in his chair the politician perched now on the edge of his chair, ready to leap to his feet in triumph or fury. At that moment she was sure that if she hadn't had so much practice dealing with intimidating, furious men she would have crumbled, told him to forget everything he had heard. Chase would have been looking for a new job and Cuddy would be forced to slink off the lick her wounded pride.

She forced herself not to draw in a deep, steadying breath and continued in her plan. "Nothing of the sort, I'm merely pointing out that if you exercise all of the tools at your disposal Dr Chase will be forced to do the same. He is not the type of man to back down when he has been wronged." Hamilton was on his feet now, incredulous. No one ever stood up to him. His friends, family and employees all ran scurrying for the hills when he let his temper show. This diminutive, fiery _woman_ in front of him was definitely someone to keep an eye on.

"You can forget me playing nice now; while I'm forced to stay here I'm going to _tear this place apart_, and when my wife is well enough I'm going to abandon ship and leave you to sink under the weight of the biggest mistake you have every made. I'm going to ruin the reputation of this place and of you personally, Dr Cuddy. If you think you can play games with me and win you are very much mistaken. Have you got that?" Flames burned behind his eyes and his hands shook with the force of his anger. With his last words still hanging in the air he turned on his heels and strode towards the door.

Cuddy couldn't let him know he had scared her. She had to ram her point home. "That's fine Mr Hamilton" Cuddy's voice was saccharine sweet. "as long as we are both in agreement, you do what you have to do, but remember I have spies everywhere in this hospital so watch what you say… And…one more thing. If you _ever_ mention Dr House's name in this hospital again you won't know what hit you. Have _you_ got that?" She forced herself to stand as she repeated his question, planted her hands in front of her and leaned over her desk towards him. Making it very clear that this was _her_ hospital, _her_ territory. If he wanted to bring a war he was going to have to fight it on her turf.

When she was alone she allowed herself to sink weakly into her chair and let out a long, shuddering breath. She really shouldn't have done that.


	20. Chapter 20

"What's the last thing you remember?"

The question hung in the air, became another presence in the room. Wilson was desperate for any sort of answer so that he could finally start treating his friends. House searched desperately through his jumbled store of memories for the answer he knew his friend needed.

House frowned "I was in a car accident?" His answer was barely above a whisper, he had spoken so little over the past week that this was all he seemed to be able to manage. He swallowed a couple of times and fell silent again for a moment.

He was uncertain about what his friend had told him, his eyes felt heavy and he struggled to remain focused. His tired eyes traveled restlessly across the small room, he was able to take in enough to prove to him that he was in fact in hospital, something _had_ happened to him. He looked down at his hands, one was tightly bound in fresh white bandages, the other in a heavy, off white cast concealing the healing bones within. Wilson nodded encouragingly, trying to dismiss the fatigue and fear he saw in his friend's face. House's face clouded over as he struggled to remember any of what his companion had said.

"Do you remember _anything_?" Wilson prompted, without much hope. His shoulders fell as he got his answer.

"I..." House struggled to recall, uncertainty now showing in his eyes. He trawled back through his memories, images and snatches of conversation surfaced: House sat at his desk; House yelling at his team; House yelling at Cuddy, House drinking with Wilson. All were real memories but nothing seemed to be recent. It was hard to make his thoughts come together; his memories were foggy, especially those he thought were most recent. The effort left him feeling exhausted. "I'm not sure... I don't know…" Frustrated, House allowed his head to drop back onto the pillow, he was too tired to hold it up any longer.

Wilson watched on as pain flashed across House's face. House looked up. "My head hurts…" He lifted a trembling hand and cradled his head waiting for the pain to pass. Wilson looked on feeling a surge of sympathy for his friend, he looked so vulnerable and scared. As the initial pain died down House began to rub his temples in slow circles, easing the tension accumulated from a week lying on lumpy hospital pillows.

Wilson tensed as House's thumb moved slowly towards the scar above his ear then moved just as slowly away again. As the pain began to ease House was able to think clearly for a while, he gratefully let his heavy hand fall back to the bed. He slowly lowered his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. He began to feel himself drifting away, the sounds of his hospital room: the constant beeps, whirrings and buzzing soothing.

"House" Wilson barely whispered. House looked so tired he regretted keeping him awake but he needed to complete the neuro check, and he needed to rule out any possibility that House had suffered brain damage. "House" he repeated a little louder when his friend didn't stir. This time the man in the bed slowly opened his eyes and looked to Wilson.

Wilson sighed and stepped closer to the bed, he didn't know how to comfort his friend but needed some sort of proximity for himself. "I'm sorry" he mumbled "I need to do a couple more tests before you can sleep. Do you want to do them now or do you have any questions about what happened."

House thought for a moment his eyes still on his friend. Even through the fug in his head he could still tell that something was up, what he saw in his friend's eyes caused his breath to hitch in his throat, Wilson looked nervous. He raised his bandaged hand again, it felt tired and heavy but frustration and exhaustion mixed to make him feel restless. He ran his hand nervously through his hair and was about to lower his tiring arm again when his thumb grazed the patch of short hair.

House frowned, his attention pulled away from Wilson. "What…?" He whispered to himself. His fingers slowly moved across the crop of short hair. He began to breathe heavily as his probing fingers caused jagged pain to flair up in his head. House glanced at Wilson wearily, then continued exploring the source of his discomfort. When his fingers found the healing scar his hand jerked painfully away as if burned.

"House, there's something you should know…" Wilson started quickly, then paused, trying to think of the best way to break the news to his friend. "The car accident was pretty bad. You were _hurt_ pretty bad." House looked at him wearily, not sure if he wanted answers just yet. Suddenly he felt overwhelmingly tired, so tired he couldn't even concentrate. If he slept he could avoid hearing what Wilson had to say, he could pretend that everything was fine and he was heading home tomorrow, good as new.

Wilson continued in his explanation. "A car hit you at some traffic lights, they were really gunning it. You were brought in with a penetrating skull fracture, we had to fit you with a plate…" Wilson stopped there, he had to let House process this news. He didn't need things broken down for him, explained in layman's terms, he could work out how serious it was from the scar on his head.

"Tell me what happened." House whispered, he forced his eyes open again, the room blurred beyond recognition for a few seconds, he blinked a couple of times to clear it. As the world came back into relative focus House noticed that everything was a little darker than it had been before. God he was tired. Sleep called to him, told him that everything would be better if he could just surrender to it's comforting folds. He almost did when he heard Wilson speaking. He had almost surrendered to sleep again but his friend's voice pulled him back.

"You were brought in with pretty severe injuries, the worst was the TPI, it caused your heart to stop in the ER, we were eventually able to bring you back." Wilson paused as he saw House blink a few times his eye lost their focus then slowly corrected themselves. Then he saw House look around confused, he looked so lost for a second that Wilson couldn't help but ask "Are you ok?" House nodded then looked expectantly at Wilson. "Then…you went into surgery, they had to remove some damaged tissue and insert a plate, they also had to repair some internal injuries. You were right you were out for a while, 6 days, and you were in and out of consciousness for a couple more days. Do you remember that?" He was rewarded with a slight shake of the head. House didn't remember anything at all.

While his friend thought over what he had just been told Wilson debated over whether to continue. He knew that House needed answers but the rest could surely wait. House had plenty to deal with, he knew about most of his condition, now he needed to rest. House didn't seem to want to know any more for the moment and if Wilson wanted to finish his neuro check he had better do it soon, House was fading fast.

"House I'm gonna let you rest soon, but I have to finish your neuro checks first." House nodded again, too tired to answer. He surrendered to Wilson and stayed focused for as long as he could. Before long the lights were out, with the room shrouded in darkness all that could be heard was soft breathing and the beep and whir of the monitors.


End file.
